


Suffer a Witch

by nikkithedead



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Canonical Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:37:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 79,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8699308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkithedead/pseuds/nikkithedead
Summary: From as far back as he could remember, it was the fondest wish of Credence Barebone to have a friend. Someone in the world to whom he could turn when life was cruel, as it so often was. Someone in the world who cared for him, and someone who would let him care for them back. 
But sometimes... to have someone even more than a friend... he thought that might be nice, too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction starts before the Fantastic Beasts timeline and will continue through the canon of the movie, and go on to what happened after. It begins with Credence indeed meeting the REAL Percival Graves, and starting a relationship with him. I went back and forth on this, but ultimately because I believe Credence deserves better, his relationship with Grindlegraves will NOT progress any further than what we see on screen (ie they will not sleep together and there will be no non-con). 
> 
> I put Credence at about 20 here, because that was how old I assumed he was when I watched it.

From as far back as he could remember, it was the fondest wish of Credence Barebone to have a friend. Someone in the world to whom he could turn when life was cruel, as it so often was. Someone in the world who cared for him, and someone who would let him care for them back. Upon meeting people, he sometimes allowed himself to imagine scenarios where in they would become said friend. He thought of conversations they might have, activities they might partake in together... secrets they might share.

Of course, while these fantasies played in his head, something would always occur in the real world that would squash the possibility completely. Usually that something was him forgetting to speak to them, or to behave in any fashion close to what was considered “normal” by the general populace. Typically this resulted in them thinking he was some sort of unintelligent freak, and turning away from him forever.

Once, and only once, he had expressed this desire to his mother. Looking back, he couldn't be sure what he'd been hoping to accomplish with that. Perhaps just the reassurance that one day, someone would indeed come along and see something special in him, something worth befriending.

Instead of this assurance, she had very gently placed her hand on the back of his neck and told him in a quiet voice that to covet what did not belong to him was a grave sin, and he was in need of punishment. So Credence took off his belt, and did not approach the subject a second time.

 

***

  
It was down in the city, towards the end of one of Mother's sermons, when Credence first saw him. He was standing at the edge of the crowd, not quite part of it, and talking in a low voice to the short-haired woman standing next to him. These two stood out to Credence, mostly because of the looks of indifference on their faces. Credence knew a lot about what indifference looked like; it was what greeted him from most people to whom he tried to hand his pamphlets, as they mumbled something about being busy and brushed passed him.

But the people who stopped to listen, those faces were never indifferent. They were curious, even amused by his mother's rantings. Some were fearful, not wanting to believe her words but unsure of the truth. The few that did believe though, they were the worst. On them Credence saw his own Mother's face mirrored, a face full of anger and hatred. They cheered when she talked of burning witches, of reliving the days of the Salem Hunts when witches lived in fear of their flames.

To be truly honest, Credence somewhat doubted that any witch would live in fear of someone like his mother. Someone strong, full of magic and power and possessing the ability to do whatever they wished—surely they couldn't be killed with something as simple as a fire? If witches could do all Mother said they could, what trouble would it be to them to just magic the fire gone? It all seemed a bit silly to him, all of this fear and anger. If witches really intended to do them harm, then harmed they would be, and that was just the way of it.

The real reason that Mother and her followers feared the witches, Credence knew, was because they made her feel powerless. She could quote the bible and talk of abominations of the Lord all she wanted, but Credence knew the truth. Next to them, his mother was weak and that frightened her more than anything. And Credence, who knew more about weakness and fear than most people had a right to, knew that there was no fighting back against that sort of thing. You just had to learn to accept it, and take your lashings as they came.

The man leaned in to whisper something to the woman with him, and she nodded her head grimly at his words. Credence wondered what they were here for, if not to listen to his mother speak. She wasn't exactly handing out candy with each leaflet, so why stand about and listen to her hatred if they didn't care for it?

The crowd around Credence began to disperse, and he realized Mother had finished speaking. There was more of them than usual, and he tensed up as they flooded past him, some bumping and jostling him as they went by, chatting about what they had heard today. It was to these people he should have shoved his pamphlets into the hands of, people who were curious but not yet convinced. He gripped the papers tightly, trying to drum up the courage to hand them out but something was stopping him, a sort of tightness in his chest. Too many people, too many little voices chattering around him... the afternoon was cool but suddenly Credence felt as hot as if he'd landed in the fires of Hell.

Breathing hard, Credence turned around and found himself face to face with the man he'd been watching. Up close, Credence could see that the man had an attractive, somewhat rugged face. He looked around forty, give or take a few years. Credence might have thought he were younger, if not for the streaks of grey in his otherwise dark hair.

The man put his hands on Credence's shoulders, as if attempting to steady him. “Are you alright there?” He asked, eyes looking deep into Credence's. The look in them took Credence a moment to place, and it startled him when he found the name to put to it: concern.

Credence felt words grow and then die on his lips, and all that came from them was a stuttering sort of groan. He wanted to tell this man that he was fine, that he was just a imbecile who became overwhelmed by silly things like crowds, but nothing coherent came out. It felt like hours they stood there, the man looking at him and Credence staring stupidly back. If not for the man's firm grip on his shoulder's, Credence was sure he would have passed out. Looking back, it could not have been more than a few seconds.

_“Credence?”_

Credence's stomach twisted at the sound of his mothers voice calling his name, and the man dropped his hands as she stomped over. Credence swallowed slightly, feeling suddenly empty and not understanding why.

“Credence, why in the name of the Lord did you not give all those people our flyers?” She demanded. She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards her. “Is it not enough you can't get the flyers to those passing by, but now you can't even handle putting them in the hands of those _already listening?_ ”

“I-I'm sorry,” Credence managed, eyes cast downwards and cheeks burning with shame. “I just—I just...”

“It was my fault, Ma'am,” The man spoke up. Credence and his mother both looked up. “I had a few questions about your group, and I'm afraid I occupied most of his time. He was very kind to educate me on your cause.” The man gave what to Credence looks like a very forced smile, but his mother seemed to buy the story. “Percival Graves,” he said, extending his hand to her.

She smiled, one of those big ones she always put on when meeting someone she thought she could convert to her cause. And this was clearly some sort of well-off business man, by the look of his dress. Someone with influence and say, unlike the usual bums who joined them. “Mary-Lou Barebone,” she replied. “And this is my son, Credence, and my daughters Chastity and Modesty.”

The woman standing by Graves gave a small cough, and he seemed to remember her. “And this is my associate, Ms. Tina Goldstein.”

His mother's smile tensed slightly. “Oh, Goldstein?” she said, in Credence thought she must have considered a casual tone. On his mothers list of abominations of the Lord, Credence knew that people of Jewish faith were only a bit below witches. He wondered how she would feel if Ms. Goldstein became a regular at her meetings. He was sure he'd seen her, at least once or twice before.

Ms. Goldstein smiled back, just as tensely. “Yes, Goldstein. Why, have you known many Goldstein's before?”

If his mother stretched her smile any more, her face was going to snap. “No, no I can't say I have. Are there... a lot of you?”

“Sadly, no,” she replied. “Just my sister and I, that I know of.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Barebone replied, her smile becoming a bit more genuine. “Yes. Sad.”

“Well, we should be off,” Mr. Graves said, giving them all another tense smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you all. Credence, thank you again for the information. It really... clarified things for us.”

Credence's mouth twitched up slightly, into something no one could have guessed was supposed to be a smile. He tried, very quickly, to think of something to say. Something interesting, that Graves would remember even after he'd forgotten the person who had told it to him, as Credence was sure he would. He didn't know why, but he the thought made him very sad.

The pair turned away and headed into the crowed, and Credence knew all hope was lost. He tried to find them amongst the throng of people walking about, but they were nowhere to be seen. It was as if they had simply vanished, right into thin air.

Credence felt his mother's hand on his shoulder. “Come along then, children. It's time for our evening prayers, and then supper.”

Wishing he could get one last look at him, Credence allowed himself to be turned away by his mother.

 

***

  
Later that night, Credence lay in bed and thought of Mr. Graves, pretending—as he was apt to do—that they were friends. Others might have found it strange to be thinking about building a friendship with someone twice their age, but as Credence had never had a friend before, he didn't really know all the rules about them.

He wondered what sort of things Mr. Graves liked to do in his spare time. He struck Credence as a theatre goer, or someone that liked to dine out at expensive and interesting restaurants. He thought about Mr. Graves taking him around to all his favourite fanciest places, full of swell and well-to-do people. But when they'd gotten to know each other, he would take Credence to a smaller place, one not so crowded. It would be a place most people mistook for a dive, but was really the hidden gem of the city, Mr. Graves favourite place...

_A date. You're talking about a date._

Credence frowned, trying to ignore the dark little voice in his mind. He only wanted to be friends with Mr. Grave, not anything more than that.

_When he put his hands on you... you liked it. More than you should have._

He shut his eyes. The memory of Mr. Graves' face stared back at him, and just the thought of his light brown eyes piercing into his own sent chills down his spine.

Credence's eyes snapped open again. He stared at his dark ceiling, and felt as if he was staring right down the road to Hell. Witches had taken up most of his mothers mind, but she still had time to hate the other sins. To feel lust, to covet as he did... if she knew, he would be punished most severely.

And that wasn't the worst of it, oh no. Lust and coveting were one thing, a few good beatings could put those ones right... but the other... to want a _man_ that way...

There would only be Hell for that.

It wasn't the first time he'd had these thoughts. It wasn't often, in fact it was rare enough that he could tell himself it was nothing.

He really meant it, about only wanting a friend. There wasn't anything more to that than what it was. Just a friend, someone who understood him. A companion. A pal.

But sometimes... to have someone even _more_ than a friend... he thought that might be nice, too.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Credence kept his eyes on the ground as he attempted to hand out his mother's leaflets, shoving them at different pairs of shoes as they passed with in his line of sight. At first he had been attempting to speak to people, just a quick “Hello I thought you might find this interesting” or similar. His mother always scolded him for appearing so standoffish, she said it put people off of their cause. After what happened the other night he desperately wanted to get back into her good graces (or as close to her good graces as it was possible for him to get). So he'd tried to get a few words out here and there, but even at the start they hadn't been more than mumbles and eventually the words had just tapered off all together.

“Hey, nancy-boy, what ya got there?”

Credence took a step back and hunched his shoulders as someone came and grabbed a flyer out of his hand. There were two of them, and one took a long look at the flyer. “'Second Salemers?'” He read, then laughed. “Wowee, you're one of them witch hunting freaks, ain't ya?” He stepped in closer to Credence, who tried to shrink as far away as he could without moving. “Say, you think you could tell me how to spot a witch, eh pal?”

Hesitantly, Credence looked up. The person harassing him couldn't have been much older than himself. He might've even been a few years younger. He had a thin, smirking face and Credence could see cruelty in his dark brown eyes.

“You see, my old lady, I think she could be one,” he said, suddenly quite serious. “She's got a million warts on her face, and her eyes are all dark and beady, like maybe she's got a secret. And all my life she's been brewing stuff up in this big pot, putting God-Knows-What into it. And she stands there all day, muttering over it and adding things from jars as it bubbles and spits... then she puts it on the table and calls it dinner!”

He and his friend started laughing, much louder than Credence thought was appropriate for how funny the joke had been.

Mumbling an excuse about needing to be home, Credence stepped sideways and hurried off down the street.

“Hey!” One of them called after him. “Hey, I wasn't done talkin' to ya!”

Credence's heart began to hammer as they chased after him, and he turned into an alley that he knew was a short cut to his house.

“Hey,  _freak—_ ” One spat, and Credence winced; they had caught up to him. The one with the smirking face grabbed him and pushed him, sending him stumbling backwards. He dropped his flyers, and Smirk-Face and his friend laughed. “That was pretty rude, what you did back there. I mean, here I was trying to  _converse_ with ya, and you went and ran off! Does that seem very  _nice_ to you?”

Staring at the ground, Credence said a silent plea for them to leave.  _Please, just let me go. No trouble, I don't want any trouble..._

Someone—Credence thought it might have been the friend this time—gave him another shove. “Hey, he asked you a question!”

“I-I don't....” Credence mumbled, fidgeting with his sleeve. He wished desperately that he could just be gone, be anywhere but here. Anywhere at all in the world would be better than right where he was. Something inside of him gave a great lurch, as if a part of him really  _was_ trying to flee, but couldn't. As if something was caught in a mass of chains. It was a strange feeling, one he wouldn't have been able to find the words for if he'd tried. As if he'd tried to sprint away, but his feet were caught in cement. Only not his feet... maybe his soul?

“Sorry, what was that? Can't quite hear you, friend.”

They snickered a bit, and Credence felt his face flush. He was not their friend, and to be called so in jest seemed to him the worst insult they could have thought of. He wanted to say something, something cruel and biting that would hurt them back, but words had never been on his side before, and now was no different.

“You are you dumb or something?  _Answer us!_ ”

They grabbed him by the front of his jacket and yanked him forward, and Credence shut his eyes and and tried to prepare himself for the impending smack he could sense coming his way.

After a moment passed and it still hadn't come, Credence opened his eyes and saw both his harassers staring at someone who had just entered the alleyway.

“You might want to consider letting him go,” Mr. Graves said, his voice calm but sternly edged. His hand was inside his jacket, and Credence thought he might have some sort of weapon concealed behind there.

The guy holding Credence sneered. “Dry up, bimbo.”

His friend, on the other hand, looked nervous. “C'mon Donny, don't make trouble. He might be packing.”

Mr. Graves smiled slightly, as if to subtly confirm that possibility.

“I'd listen to your friend, Donny.” Graves agreed. He raised his eyebrows. “Scram.”

Smirk-Face—or, Donny—looked between Mr. Graves and Credence, and Credence saw him eye the hand in Graves' jacket. Could he really be holding on to a gun? The thought of it made Credence want to pass out, that was just too much. But deep down, deep in the part of him he tried desperately to keep hidden... he wanted it to be a gun. And he wanted to see Graves use it.

Slowly, Donny's hands eased up on Credence's jacket and he let him go. Credence let out a low breath and took a step back.

“Let's blow,” Donny muttered, slicking his hair back and trying to act like them leaving had been his idea. Graves watched them as they left, and his hand never left the inside of his coat. Finally, they were gone, and he removed his hand, leaving whatever he'd been holding on to inside the coat.

Once they were alone, Graves was over to Credence in a few strides. “Are you alright?” He asked. He put his hand on Credence's back, and Credence immediately jumped away as the touch sent a surge of pain throughout his body. The wounds were still too fresh, and any agitation inflamed them. Graves frowned. “Credence?”

Credence turned away, shoulders still shaking in pain. He needed to get a handle on himself, needed to at least give a show of composure...

“Credence...” Graves' voice was soft. “What happened?”  
  
Credence shook his head. As much as he appreciated Mr. Graves for saving him—for the second time, no less—this wasn't any of his business. It was no one's business, but his and his mothers. And God, of course. Credence knew he was pitiful, and he knew he was weak... but this trouble was his own, and he would not let another tend it.

Credence felt a hand on his, and gave another very small start. Not from pain this time, but from shock. He looked up and was once more staring into Mr. Graves warm brown eyes. And in them he did not see pity, or disgust. He saw compassion. “Come with me.”

 

***

 

Percival Graves lived in very a busy part of town, with very ugly but important looking buildings. On the outside, his apartment building was particularly unpleasant looking, but Credence didn't mind at all. Had the apartment been lavish and beautiful to look at, Credence would have felt even more out of place than ever. He was much more at home with the grotesque and unseemly. Particularly attractive things always made him nervous. Perhaps that was why he couldn't muster more than a word around Mr. Graves.

“Didn't realize this was such a far walk,” Mr. Graves mumbled as they made his way up the steps to his building. Credence wondered what that meant. Surely he must have been used to walking around town... unless he had an automobile hidden somewhere.

It was three flights up to his apartment, and on the last leg of stairs Mr. Graves sprinted up them quite quickly, as if he was trying to get to his apartment before Credence. When Credence caught up to him, he was standing at his door, hastily shoving something back inside his coat. He flashed Credence his very tense smile, as if to say  _“nothing out of the ordinary here.”_

Credence decided not to ask. He did, however, want to ask what he'd been brought there for, but just couldn't seem to find the words.

Inside, the apartment  _was_  perfectly ordinary, though a bit sparsely decorated. Everything was very neat and tidy, which is exactly what Credence would have expected from a respectable man like Mr. Graves. Credence was instructed to take a seat on the couch, which he did after taking a moment and deciding it would be considered very rude just to make a run for it.

“I'll get you a cup of coffee...” Graves mumbled, heading into his kitchen. He frowned. “No, tea. Tea is better if you're agitated, hmm?” He looked to Credence, who had no idea about what drinks did what. Mother often had a cup of tea before bedtime, so he supposed it was...

Graves seemed to come to his own conclusion about the tea, and went about making it. Credence thought he might have heard him say, very quietly, that tea was easier anyways.

Once the tea was made, which took quite a bit longer than Credence thought was normal, Graves set it before him. He took a sip of it, found it extremely bitter, but drank it without a word. Despite the ill taste, Credence found that it did seem to calm him a bit.

Looking up over his tea, Credence found Graves staring at him with raised eyebrows. “Well?” He said softly. Credence stared back. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Credence stared at his tea. Perhaps if he just stayed silent, Graves would give up and leave him be. He couldn't understand why Mr. Graves would care anyways. They had met twice now, to be sure, but they didn't know each other. What did Graves care if Mother had beaten Credence more cruelly than she ever had before? Pulling Credence away from his duties, taking him back to his apartment... it was probably just a big show, an act of concern and caring.

People did that, he knew. They pretended to care about the miserable creatures they saw before them, made a fuss of simpering and sighing over them but at the end of the day the ones who said they cared just saw them the same as everyone else; they saw them as freaks. The only difference was they felt the need to pity the freaks, instead of hating them.

Credence would take hatred over pity any day.

“Credence, please. Tell me what happened.” There was an edge to Mr. Graves' voice now, as if he were growing a bit annoyed. He didn't sound angry, just somewhat frustrated. Credence assumed he was proving to be more difficult than Graves had anticipated.

Credence looked up at Mr. Graves, and saw he did indeed look frustrated. He wanted to tell him he didn't have to do this, that this show of kindness and caring was unnecessary, wasted on a wretch like Credence.

Graves frowned, and rubbed his chin as Credence stared at him with dead eyes. “Alright then, let me tell you what I think happened. If I'm wrong, feel free to correct me.” Graves peered at him for a moment, and then said “Someone hurt you, Credence. They hurt you badly, and quite recently.” He raised his eyebrows and leaned in closer. “And I don't think it was those punks in the alleyway. I think it was someone close to you, someone you care for. Otherwise you wouldn't be protecting her.”

Credence's mouth opened slightly.

“Is anything I said wrong?”

Credence glanced down again, and very slowly, shook his head.

Graves nodded. He was quiet for a long moment, and Credence lifted his eyes back up. Mr Graves was staring, not at Credence, just sort of off into nothing. Credence supposed he was thinking. He shut his eyes and sighed, and while Credence couldn't exactly read his mind, he got the impression that whatever conclusions he was coming to, he wasn't pleased with them. He opened his eyes. “There's nothing I can do,” He said, very quietly. “Nothing short of...” he shook his head again, and looked to Credence. “I'm sorry.”

Credence ground his teeth for a moment, and with great difficulty forced a few words out of his mouth. “It's not... it's not your fault.” He said, eyes darting back and forth between Graves and the floor. Graves looked slightly surprised. “Don't be...” he shifted around a bit, feeling uncomfortable. “You don't need to be sorry.”

The corner of Graves' mouth twitched upwards. “So you can speak then, eh?”

Credence chewed his lip. “I can,” he said shortly. “I just... don't. Not much, anyway...”

“And why is that?”

Credence answered slowly, being careful to chose the right words. “The more I talk... the more I get, sort of... balled up.” He shook his head. “No one much likes to hear me speak, either way... no one listens.”

“I'm listening.” Mr. Graves said, in a plain sort of way. “And I certainly don't mind it.”

Credence sighed, and squeezed his eyes shut. “You're just being nice. You don't... you don't really... want to.” He kept his eyes shut for a minute, sure he had just ruined whatever nice intentions Mr. Graves had towards him. Why had he opened his mouth? Silence, that was better, it was always better than talking. Words ruined everything. At least, they did when they were chosen by Credence.

After a painful minute of darkness, Credence opened his eyes. Quite surprisingly, Mr. Graves did not look angry.

“Credence, I think you're the first person in the world to ever think I was doing something just to be nice.” He said. Credence thought he meant it to be humorous, but the flatness in his voice made the statement come off somewhat serious. “No, the truth is... I didn't just happen to be coming into the alleyway by happenstance, I was... well, coming to look for you, actually.”

Of all the places Credence expected this conversation to go, Credence had not expected this to be one of them. “Me?” He said, doubt evident in his voice. “You were coming to look for... me?”

Graves nodded. “Your group, the Second Salemers...” Credence's shoulders sank. Of course that's what this was about. Graves didn't want him, he wanted information. But why was coming to him, and not his mother? The organization was entirely her, really. Credence just handed out leaflets. “What do you really know... about witches?”

Credence stared at Mr. Graves. He had a list of things ready to recite, everything his mother had ever told him about witches; what they look like, how to spot them even in disguise. Their habits and rituals, the food they ate and their style of dress.

Instead of saying all of that, however, Credence opened his mouth and said “Nothing.” He paused. “My mother, our group... we know nothing.” Credence swallowed, feeling suddenly a bit ill. Had he really just said that? Where had that come from? Mother would be furious, if she knew, if she ever found out... Fear gripped him, but even with it was a sudden and strange exhilaration. He had told the truth, and it felt  _wonderful_ to say aloud.

“I bet—” Credence felt himself getting excited now, an awful sort of excitement. He felt as though the sin he was committing might cause him to drop dead at any moment, and he needed to get it all out before that happened. “I bet a witch could walk right up to my mother, introduce themselves and shake her hand, and she would never even know.”

Something about that thought seemed to amuse Graves, and he smiled slightly. Not the tense smile Credence had seen before, but a smile that was real and genuine, subtle as it was. Credence's heart pounded slightly in his chest and he felt a smile grow on his own face. It withered quickly, and he looked away, feeling his face heat up. This was nothing to smile about. He had insulted his mother, who clothed and fed him and was good enough to take him in when no one else wanted him. He should be punished for this, but he knew he was too much of a coward to make that happen.

“I should go,” Credence said, standing up very quickly. Something about talking to Graves was getting to him, making him say and feel things he shouldn't've. It wasn't right. “I, I have to... my mother...”

Mr. Graves nodded, and stood up as well. “Thank you for speaking with me today, Credence. I promise, I'll never let word of what you said get back to your mother.”

Credence nodded, grateful for the sentiment but still tense. He somehow had the sense that his mother had heard their conversation, and was waiting for him at home right at this moment. His fingers twitched, as if wanting to move on their own towards his belt.

“Thank you,” He said quietly, speaking to Graves' shoes. “For the tea.”

Credence hurried out of the apartment, and was quickly back out onto the street. He took one last look at Graves' building before starting the walk back to his own home, where he was sure punishment was waiting for him in some form or another.

 


	3. Chapter 3

To his surprise, Credence's mother was in somewhat of a good mood when he arrived back at the Second Salemers church. Apparently their meeting that day had gone well, with a lot of new people coming around to hear what she had to say.

As she readied the table for supper, she spoke about her day but didn't look at Credence much, which he greatly preferred because when she did look at him she often found something wrong. However she _did_ ask him how handing out his leaflets had gone.

“My guessing is that it went well, as you were gone so long and you've got none left with you, hmm?”

Credence froze, having forgotten entirely about the leaflets, which he imagined were still lying in the alleyway, where he had dropped them. He clenched his jaw shut and stared at his mother, sure she would be able to see the entire truth on his face. Not only that he had _not_ handed out the flyers, but that he had spent the afternoon with Mr. Graves, revealed to him that they knew no more about witches than anyone else did, and gotten a perfect stranger mixed up in business that was just between them. What's more, he feared she could see even deeper than the surface of the events of the day, deep into the dark place Credence so desperately tried to avoid thinking about. And in that place she would be able to see his sin.

Luckily for him, she didn't look.

“Well, that's good then,” She said, continuing the conversation as if Credence had answered in the affirmative. “News of our cause is growing, and those flyers do a lot more than you think. Even the ones that get thrown out, now, someone else could come by and pick them up, couldn't they?” She smiled to herself, evidently extremely pleased about how things were progressing.

Credence breathed a sigh of relief, and went about helping prepare dinner. He was careful not to spill anything this time. A second beating like the night before might've put him in the hospital, and Mother really couldn't afford that.

The rest of the night proceeded smoothly, and it wasn't until Credence was getting ready for bed that it happened.

Just as he was about to kneel to say his prayers, his mother appeared in his doorway with her mouth drawn in a thin line. “Do you know what this is, Credence?” she asked in a low voice.

Credence looked at what she was holding out, and saw it was one of their flyers. It was crumpled and covered in dirt, with a visible shoe print on it.

He swallowed, and said nothing.

Clearly, silence had not been the right choice this time. “Answer me, boy!” She yelled, her voice horrible to listen to. Just the sound of it made Credence want to curl into a ball and disappear from the word.

“It-it's one of our flyers...” he said quietly, already able to see where this was heading. And he'd done such a good job at dinner that night, too.

“And do you know where I _found_ it?” She asked. Credence shook his head, although he had a pretty good guess. “In the alleyway, with a hundred other flyers that _you_ were supposed to have distributed today!”

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him down her nose. “The belt.” She said.

Head hanging, Credence moved to his small dresser, and retrieved his belt. He gave it to her, and then held out his hand. She looked him up and down, and shook her head. “Your shirt, take it off.”

Credence's eyes went wide. His back was still raw and bleeding from the night before, surely he didn't deserve to be beaten so badly two nights in a row.

“Don't look at me that way, I said take it off!”

Credence felt himself close to tears. He had endured the pain the night before, but to have it again so quickly. He couldn't take it. “P-please, I c-can't...” He backed away from his mother slowly, and pressed himself against the wall, ignoring the pain in his back. “Please...” He sunk down slowly, and looked up at his mother from the floor. She stood over him, belt in hand, and raised her hand up high as if to smack his face...

Credence shut his eyes and waited for the blow... but for the second time that day, it never came. Instead he heard someone—a woman—shout, and suddenly his mother was blown backwards out of the room.

A woman appeared in the doorway, and Credence knew her face; it was the short-haired woman he'd seen at the meeting a few days ago, with Mr. Graves—Ms. Goldstein.

“It's ok,” She said, kneeling to Credence's level.

Credence stared at her, mouth open and eyes wide. _What just happened?_

His mind raced, and somehow he went back to when they'd met, to Tina Goldstein shaking his mothers hand and being introduced. _I bet a witch could walk right up to my mother... introduce themselves and shake her hand... and she would never even know._ He thought of Mr. Graves' small smile when he'd said that... the first genuine smile he'd ever seen from him.

He looked into Ms. Goldstein's eyes. _“Witch,”_ he whispered. Slowly, she nodded.

A cry from the other room told him his mother had not been knocked out. She stumbled back into the room, more furious than he had ever seen her, and pointed a finger at Ms. Goldstein. “Witch!” She cried, echoing Credence.

The witch rose to her feet, and turned to face Credence's mother. Credence knew for a fact that his mother expected, should she ever find herself face to face with a witch, that said witch would be afraid of her. She appeared to have been quite wrong about that fact.

The witch was holding something in her hand, and Credence saw it was a long stick— _a wand._ Credence's opened his mouth to warn his mother, to tell her to look out or get out of the way... but his words once more failed him.

And Credence was quite glad for it.

“ _Petrificus totalus,”_ Ms. Goldstein said calmly, and with a flash of light, Mary-Lou Barebone's body seized up, as if she'd been turned to stone, and she fell stiffly onto the floor.

Ms. Goldstein put her magical wand back into her coat pocket, and turned to Credence. She opened to mouth to say something, but before she could get a word out there was a loud _crack,_ and then quite suddenly Mr. Graves was there, almost as if he'd sprung up from the ground. “What have you done?!” He shouted, staring from Credence to his mother with horror in his eyes. “You—” He broke off and turned to Credence. “Are you alright?” He asked, his voice suddenly softer. “Did she hurt you?”

For a moment, Credence thought he meant Ms. Goldstein, and he shook his head no.

“Good,” Graves said. He turned back to his associate. “Tina, this is—you were supposed to _watch_ them. Not—” he gestured to the prostrate body of Credence's mother. “This.”

“She was going to beat him, Percival, I had to do something,” Ms. Goldstein hissed. “This woman is a monster, she—”

“She's a no-maj, is what she is!” Graves snapped. “Their affairs aren't ours to meddle in. They have their own idiotic police for that.” He pinched his brow. “Fuck. They'll all have to be obliviated...”

Ms. Goldstein seemed as if she wanted to say something back, but she kept her mouth shut.

“Go on, I'll take care of them,” Graves continued. “Promise me you won't interfere again.”

Ms. Goldstein's eyes widened. “But—”

Graves gave her a look, and his associate closed her mouth. She continued to glare.

“Fine. I won't interefe, I'll just keep watch from now on.” She said. Credence noted she never actually said the word _promise._ He wondered if this was the adult version of crossing your fingers behind your back.

With a last glance towards Credence, Ms. Goldstein disappeared with another loud _crack._

Graves turned to Credence, and offered him his hand. “Help me find you sisters.” He said.

“But they didn't... they didn't see anything.” Credence said, allowing Mr. Graves to help pull him to his feet. His hands felt warm on Credence's, which were freezing.

A low, sad whining noise caught his attention and he remembered his mother. Despite being still as a statue, she appeared to be conscious. Credence could see her eyes moving back and forth in terror.

“Is she... is she alright?” Credence asked, feeling a bit light headed. Surely, none of this could be real. It wasn't as if he hadn't believed his mother when she'd said witches were real, and living among them. It was just that he hadn't expected them to be people he knew. And Mr. Graves...

He turned to Mr. Graves, as if suddenly realizing something. “You're a witch!” he cried, the thought finally sinking in. His worries for his mother were quickly forgotten. “You're a—you and Ms. Goldstein. You're witches.”

Graves considered this. “I prefer 'wizard' actually, but yes the point stands the same.”

Credence stared at him, unsure what to do next. For all their witch talk, his mother had never _actually_ given him instructions, on what to do if he ever met one. Did he tell Mr. Graves to stand still, while he went about building a pyre around him? Did he run outside and shout for the neighbours, rile them up into an angry mob? Credence wasn't too sure he'd do well in an angry mob... crowds made him nervous. As did anger.

“Are you trying to decide whether or not to burn me at the stake?” Mr. Graves asked.

Credence stared at him, and wondered if that was meant as a joke, or if he could really magically read his mind. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Are you going to?”

Credence paused. “No.”

Graves nodded. “I appreciate that.” He put a hand on Credence's shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. All thoughts of lifting a finger against him vanished quite completely.

Graves turned to glance out the door. “Now, we really do need to find your sisters.”

They found the girls still in their room, shaking with fear. Modesty was cowering being Chastity, who seemed to be trying to protect her younger sister. Credence thought that was nice.

“Credence!” Modesty called, running out from behind her sister as he entered the room. He thought she meant to run to him, but when she caught sight of Mr. Graves, she stopped.

“It's alright...” Mr. Graves said slowly. “I'm—”

“Who are you?!” Chastity demanded. Although Credence could hear fear in her voice, she seemed determined to put on a dauntless air. “What do you want? Credence, Modesty, come away from him this instance!”

Modesty obeyed, and once more hid herself behind her sisters skirt.

“It's alright,” Graves repeated, stepping slowly into the room. “You don't need to be afraid; I'm a friend of your brothers.”

Credence blinked a few times, and looked at Graves. Had he just said they were friends? Credence was reasonably sure he had. The idea that this was all a dream did not occur to Credence until that moment. Somehow the events of the past few minutes all seemed reasonable to Credence, in comparison to the idea that Mr. Graves had actually called him a friend.

The look on Chastity's face brought Credence back to reality. Her usually pretty, small face was contorted with so much anger and hate that despite their being no blood between her and their mother, she resembled her most uncannily. “Credence Barebone, you traitor! Setting a witch upon your own mother! How could you?!”

Part of him wanted to protest, to insist that he _hadn't_ set witches upon her... but the truth was he hadn't exactly lifted a finger to _stop_ the witches either. Feeling ashamed, he hung his head and looked away from his sisters.

“Credence...” Modesty whimpered. “Why?”

Credence ground his teeth. “You know why,” he said, very quietly to his own shoes. If anyone understood, it was Modesty. She was always the one to bring him ice for his hand after a beating, the one who hugged him and sat him with as he tried to catch his breath and make the tears stop. While Chastity sat down downstairs, humming to drown out his sobs Modesty stayed with him, comforted him. Cared for him.

He thought she would have understood.

When Credence looked up, his sisters were silent and still. Mr. Graves had his wand out, and it was pointed directly at them.

_“Obliviate,”_ Mr. Graves said, quietly. He turned his wand, and a dazed look came over his sisters faces. They blinked, and Graves slipped out of the room.

“Credence...” Modesty mumbled, rubbing her eyes in confusion. “What's going on?”

Credence breathed in deeply, relieved. “Nothing,” He assured her. “There was a noise, it woke you two up... but it was just a pigeon trying to get in.”

Chastity frowned. “I hope you took care of it,” she said stiffly. “We don't need it waking Ma up as well.”

Credence nodded. “I took care of it,” he said. “I always do.”

 

***

Credence found Graves magically floating his mother back into her room. Something about watching her body float weightless through the air made him return to the idea that this was all some very strange dream.

“What are you going to do with her?” Credence asked slowly, following Mr. Graves into his mothers room. Graves set her down on her bed, and with a flick of his wand, tucked the blankets around her.

“The same as I did to your sisters, Credence.” Mr Graves said. “Obliviate her—modify her memory. In a moment she won't recall any of this.”

Credence nodded. He watched his mother lying there in her bed, still frozen stiff. She could have been asleep if not for the fact that her eyes were open and staring straight at Credence.

“Mr. Graves...” Credence began. “Before—before you came in... my mother, she was—I did something, something that upset her.” Credence turned to look at him, and breathed out through his nose. “Do you think she could not remember that, too?”

Mr. Graves nodded. “Consider it done.” He said simply. Turning back to Mary-Lou, he said “Close her eyes, Credence.”

Fidgeting slightly, Credence stepped over to his mother and looked down at her. “I'm sorry about this, Ma.” He said quietly. Reaching up and closing her eyes, it occurred to Credence that this was the sort of thing one would do to a corpse.

Credence stepped away, and Mr. Graves pointed his wand at his mother and with a few swishes, Credence saw her body relax slightly. She no longer looked as if she were stiff as a board, but instead appeared to be asleep. Finally, Graves gave his wand a turn, just as he had with his sisters, and whispered “ _Obliviate._ ”

Mary-Lou Barebone twitched in her sleep, and with a glance between them, Credence and Graves left the room, letting the door close softly behind them.

They walked quietly back to Credence's room and Credence felt his stomach sink.

Now it was his turn.

Looking at Mr. Graves, it was strange to realize how very sad he felt. In the years since Mary-Lou Barebone had adopted him, Credence had heard of little else except how terrible and cruel witches were, how they needed to be stopped and how they wanted nothing but to bring pain and misery to all. And now here he was, standing in his room with a powerful witch—or wizard, as Mr. Graves said he preferred to be called—and he didn't feel at all afraid. He'd seen what Mr. Graves could do, and was sure that was only the start of it all... but he was not afraid.

Which, for Credence, was a rare thing indeed.

Instead, he just felt very sad. Witches weren't at all like his mother had said. How could they be evil, when Mr. Graves was one of them? And Ms. Goldstein... she had saved him tonight. For no reason, she had saved him.

But he would never remember.

“Credence...”

Credence turned to Mr. Graves, and nodded. “Go ahead,” He whispered. “I-I'm ready.”

Graves looked him over, his brow furrowed. “Let me see your back,” he said.

Credence frowned. “What?” He asked. Graves raised his eyebrows. Credence looked away, feeling his face heat up. Slowly, he unbuttoned his nightshirt, fingers shaking slightly as he went. He turned away and let his shirt fall to the floor, revealing his brutalized back to Mr. Graves.

Credence jumped slightly, feeling Mr. Graves place a hand upon his shoulder.

“It's alright,” Graves mumbled. “I won't hurt you, I promise.”

Credence wanted to say that he knew that, but the words caught in his throat.

After his beating the night before, Modesty had done her best to patch him up, applying bandages to the worst of the wounds. Mr. Graves removed the bandages now with a wave of his wand, and Credence saw them fold themselves up and throw themselves into the waste bin. The cold night air stung the now exposed wounds on his back, and Credence shivered.

“I can't heal you completely,” Mr. Graves said, and Credence could hear frustration in his voice. “Once you forget... you'll wonder where the wounds went. If your mothers sees them gone—”

“She'll think it was witches,” Credence finished.

“And for once, she'd be right.” Graves sighed. “But I can help the wounds along. Help with the pain.”

Credence nodded.

Graves placed his wand at the nape of Credence's neck, and drew it down to the small of his back. Credence felt warmth spread over him, as if he'd slipped into a hot bath. The pain eased as his flesh mended, and Credence let out a breath. He hadn't even realized how much pain he'd been in, until it was gone.

“Thank you,” He breathed, turning around. He looked at Graves, eyes moving over his face as he wondered if it would look the same to him when they saw each other again. He seemed different now, now that Credence knew his secret. “Are you going to make me forget now?” He asked.

Graves nodded. The idea of not remembering was still a sad one, but it was beginning to hold some comfort as well. This moment, anything that happened... it would be like it never had. For Credence, at least. He didn't need to be afraid of anything because in a few moments time, it would be as if it had never been.

Looking Graves straight in the eye, Credence realized he'd never really done that. It was a shame, really. Mr. Graves had lovely light brown eyes. He'd noticed them before, but not like this. So close, he could see flecks of gold in them...

Standing there, closer than Credence had ever dared get, it occurred to him that he would do anything for Mr. Graves. And not because he had healed his wounds, and made it so his mother would not remember being angry with him. Not because he had saved him in the alleyway, or given him terrible tasting tea.

He would do it but because he said they were friends.

The thought of that almost made Credence cry. Someone had finally called him their friend, and it would all be gone in just a moment.

“Credence...”

It happened so quickly that Credence didn't even realize what he was doing until it was too late. Something burst out of him, something he'd tried so hard to keep hidden, keep buried deep inside of him. The terrible dark thing that lived in him, it suddenly took control and for a moment Credence lost his mind.

He grabbed Mr. Graves and kissed him. It was a hard kiss, long and deep and though Credence had no idea at all what he was doing, he tried to do it as best he could.

Sanity returned all to quickly and Credence pulled back, heart pounding in his chest as his eyes searched Graves, trying to gauge how he was feeling: disgusted, repelled, furious?

The look Credence saw didn't seem much like anyone of those. In fact, Graves seemed more surprised than anything.

Credence was pretty surprised, too.

_“Credence?”_

Credence's heart jumped into his throat, hearing Modesty call his name from the other room. With a sound like a cracking whip, Mr. Graves was suddenly gone. Credence grabbed his shirt from the floor and was hastily buttoning it back up when Modesty entered.

“I can't sleep,” she complained. “I feel scared.”

Credence nodded, and drew her in for a hug. “Me too,” he said quietly. 

That night, Modesty slept in Credence's bed with him, something she often did during thunderstorms or when she'd had a nightmare. She fell asleep quickly, despite her complaints. Credence, however, stayed awake for much of the night and thought about what had happened. He thought of the magic he'd seen, and the way he'd betrayed his family more thoroughly than he would have thought possible. He thought back to what he'd said to his mother as he'd closed her eyes. He'd apologized to her then, and in the moment he'd meant it. But thinking back now, over everything that had happened that night, Credence knew deep down that he was not sorry at all. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

If it had not been for the rejuvenation of the wounds on his back, Credence would have been strongly tempted to chalk up the entire nights happenings to a very vivid, extremely odd dream. It was absolutely eerie, having no one remember the events that taken place, besides himself. Witches had been in their _home,_ casting spells against them and in the morning no one was any the wiser. Perhaps his mother had been right after all, to fear them...

But the only part of the night before which truly caused Credence fear to recall were his own actions. In the light of day, the full insanity of what he had done was able to hit him.

He had kissed Mr. Graves. Kissed him straight on the mouth. Thinking about it had been one thing, which was bad enough on its own. But to actually _act_ on all of his lurid fantasies—what had he been thinking? To kiss another man... to _like_ it... surely he was going to hell. There was just no way around it now.

Oh, but he had liked it. Tortured as he felt now, there was denying how kissing Mr. Graves had made him feel. As if he was, for perhaps the first time in his miserable life, truly alive. The kiss had only lasted a moment but Credence had felt a lifetime of happiness in that one instance.

The thought that he would never again feel that way was crushing. But no, whatever had driven him to do something deplorable the night before, it could not again be unleashed. It wasn't right for him to let his unhappy desires get the better of him so violently. He had been raised better than that. Taught better.

And if the fear of going to hell wasn't enough to stop him from doing it again, he was sure he could always count on the fear of his mother.

What had happened between him and Mr. Graves may not have been forgotten by him, but he was determined to proceed as if it had been.

No matter how much it hurt.

 

***  
  


Credence's resolve to forget about Mr. Graves lasted all the way until after breakfast, when he and his family marched over to their pre-chosen meeting place, and his mother began her sermon.

As he stood there with his sisters, he found himself continuously looking around, hoping to find Mr. Graves standing somewhere amongst the crowd. Every now and then a pair of feet would approach him, and he would look up, hopeful to find himself looking into Mr. Graves warm brown eyes. But each time he was disappointed to find some stranger staring down at him, eyes sweeping over him as they took the pamphlet, as if he were barely there.

After the meeting was over, Credence was sent a few streets over to continuing handing out his leaflets. His mother had recently added some new information to them, and it was important to her that the word of it get out as quickly as possible.

By the late afternoon, Credence had stopped pretending that he wasn't actively looking for Mr. Graves. For all of his moaning and crying, all of his determination to put him out of his head, he could not deny the simple fact that he wanted to see him again. Even if he would not be allowed to kiss him again, or touch him at all... it would have been enough, Credence thought, just to see him. Just to talk to him, even. Because when Credence spoke to Mr. Graves, he felt as if, possibly for the first time, someone was really seeing him. Seeing him as a person, instead of some pitiful creature to side step on the streets as he feebly offered them a leaflet.

Credence had never really been seen before, and prior to meeting Mr. Graves he thought he'd preferred that. Had even tried his best to be as invisible as possible, shrinking himself into nothing to avoid being spoken to or looked at. But Mr. Graves did not speak to him as if he were some unpleasant oddity simply taking up space in front of him. He spoke to Credence as if he were a real, full person. Not just any person, either, but someone worth speaking to. Worth looking at.

It had never before occurred to Credence that he could be worth something to somebody, and the idea that he may have destroyed all of that hurt worse than any beating.

 

***

  
Two weeks went by, without any sign of Mr. Graves. Not a sighting of him at one of their meetings (though more than once he had seen Ms. Goldstein lurking around) nor appearance by him in an alleyway. Anyone else in this situation would have likely given up. After all, they had only met three times, and Graves had made it clear that those three times had been enough for him. It was time to move on, to let whatever feelings he had go.

Credence knew that, and yet he could not. Maybe if he'd had someone else, anyone else in the world to turn to, he may have been able to move on but without Mr. Graves he was alone. That shouldn't have scared him as much as is it did; having been alone most of his life, one would have thought he'd be used to it by now. Before, even Credence thought he was used to it. But if he had longed for a friend before, it was nothing to the way he felt now. To have come so close, to have someone so near only for them to then vanish completely... how could he just let that go?

He thought of asking Ms. Goldstein about him. Perhaps there was an explanation as to his disappearance. He imagined approaching her after a meeting, asking her about where he was. She would tell him he had to go away for business, urgently and with no time to let anyone know he'd gone. He even imagined _her_ approaching him, telling him that Graves had left with a message, a message just for him. And that message would be...

“Um, excuse me? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Credence blinked, and after a long moment had passed, realized he was being spoken to. A young man was in front of him, regarding Credence with a smile that was starting to look a bit fixed. Slowly, Credence nodded, although he didn't know what someone would possibly want to talk to him for.

The man nodded. “So, witches, huh?” He started, running his fingers through his slightly greasy looking brown hair. “I mean, thats a hell of a—why do you think there are witches in New York?” He asked, staring intently at Credence.

Credence broke his gaze and looked away. He supposed he should have said something, something captivating and intriguing, to win the man over their cause. There was a lot of things he _could_ have said, actually. Had the words for, at least. They may not have been intriguing, but he _could_ have told him all of the things his mother had told him to say. About the evil of witches, about how they could look like anyone and left destruction in their wake.

But what good would that do? To tell another person that witches were evil, cruel and monstrous when he knew full well they were not, who would it help? Why should he be helping his mother poison people against people like Mr. Graves and Ms. Goldstein.

The smile on the greasy-haired man's face was falling, and Credence could tell he was becoming annoyed with his silence.

“Hello? Can you... you can hear me right?” The man gave a small, uncertain laugh. “I just want to know what you can tell me about witches...” He said slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. Not a particularly smart child, either.

_“Credence!”_

Credence started slightly and cringed, hearing his mother call his name. How was she made his own name sound so terrible? How was she able to turn that against him? The way she said his name, spit it out of her mouth like it was something vile to taste... he hated it.

“Credence, give this nice young man a leaflet, for goodness sake!” Mary Lou cried, rushing over. “Educate him, Credence!”

“Yes, thank you,” Said the young man, apparently relieved to finally be talking to someone with some brains. “I don't know why he wouldn't answer my questions...”

Mary Lou's eyes lit up with fire. _“Credence...”_ She said, her voice low. “Why are you standing in the way of this man's journey towards knowledge?”

Credence laughed. It was a short, barking sound and he covered his mouth quickly to stifle it, but it was too late. His mothers face was turning red and before he could say he was sorry she lifted her hand and smacked him flat across the face. While it was painful, it was more surprising than anything—he couldn't ever recall her striking him in public before.

He must have really made her mad.

Honestly, he wasn't even quite sure where the laughter had come from. He had never really found anything about his mother funny before, but in that moment she had simply seemed so ridiculous to him. Just for a moment he had forgotten how very frightened he was of her, and seen her as she truly was—a pathetic old lady with a heart full of hate. And in that moment, he had laughed.

It was something he would never do again.

Credence doubled over in front of her, clutching the side of his face which stung terribly. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his mother raising her hand again for another blow—

_“Stupefy!”_

A jet of red light hit his mother square in her back. First a look of surprise came over her face, followed quickly by pain as she fell over to the ground. A quiet moment passed, and then Credence heard Modesty scream.

All hell broke loose. People ran to his mother, who was shaking slightly with wide eyes, looking stunned. Credence heard cries of _“Witches! Witches!”_ coming from everywhere as people ran all around him, some trying to get away and some trying to get a better look.

Through the chaos, Credence saw Ms. Goldstein rushing towards him

The young man who had been asking about witches stared at her, his eyes wide. “W-w-wi—”

Ms. Goldstein rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes I'm a witch, alert the media...” She mumbled.

There was a wild look in his eyes, which Credence was a bit surprised to find didn't much look like fear. Instead he looked sort of like Ms. Goldstein had just offered him all the secrets to the universe on a plate.

He turned on his heel—likely about to run off and tell the world about what he had seen—and ran straight into a tall man in a black hat, who pointed a long red wand at his face and said _“Obliviate.”_

All over the square, witches where popping up out of thin air and erasing the memories of each one of his mothers followers. Credence watched them with interest, feeling a little bit like he was floating somewhere outside of himself watching this all occur from very far away.

There was a cracking sound somewhere behind him, and someone grabbed Credence by the arm. “We have to go,” said Mr. Graves, pulling him to the side. Then suddenly everything around him was black, and he was being pressed from all sides, some terrible and invisible force squeezing every inch of him as if it were trying to press him into nothingness. Direction had no meaning, and whether he was falling or rushing up through the air he could not tell. Then suddenly it all stopped with a terrible jolt, and he found himself in Mr. Graves apartment once more.

 

***'  
  


“I have to go,” Graves said, quite immediately. Then he was gone again, leaving Credence alone.

Credence was grateful for his leaving so quickly, because the second he disappeared he bolted towards Graves kitchen and threw up in his sink. The sink made a noise that sounded somewhat disgusted.

“Sorry...” Credence mumbled, wiping his mouth. He frowned, and looked down, realized he had just apologized to a sink. As he looked, the tap turned itself on, washing away his vomit. When he leaned in to take a drink of water, the sink sprayed him in the face. Apparently his apology had not been accepted.

Straightening up, Credence looked around and realized Mr. Graves' apartment didn't look at all the same as it had before. For starters, there were pictures on the wall that had not been there before, and they were all moving. Most of the subjects were staring at him curiously, whispering to themselves behind their hands. They all quieted as he stepped further into the room, and began pretending as if they hadn't all just been staring at him and talking about him. But Credence was too distracted to pay them any mind.

It was the view from Graves' window that distracted him. Instead of looking out onto the city, the window appeared to look onto a beautiful Caribbean beach, with sparkling white sand and a blue ocean that went on as far as Credence could see. Even though in New York it had been cold and raining that day, Credence could feel the sun from the window shining on his face.

It was the most incredible thing Credence had ever seen. It wasn't like looking at a picture, or even a painting. It was as if a whole other world was right in front of him, close enough to touch, and feel. He could even hear the sound of the ocean, hear the waves rolling in and the noise of the birds flying in the blue sky. He was sure that if he opened the window he would be able to smell the salt of the sea, taste it in the air. He reached forward, wanting to touch it, wanting to be there.

“It's not real, you know,”

Credence turned around, wondering who had spoken.

“Over here, on the table.”

Credence turned and looked at a small round photograph of a young woman siting at a desk. There was something strangely familiar about her, although Credence didn't think they'd met. “The view, it's an enchantment on the window,” She continued. “If you open it, you'll just be looking at New York.”

“Oh,” Credence said, feeling a bit disappointed.

The girl on the photograph shifted slightly, looking uncomfortable. “Well, I mean it's not so terrible. It's still better to look at than all those ugly old buildings, isn't it?” She asked. Credence shrugged. “It was a present from me, actually. Percy lives in a particularly ugly neighbourhood, I thought the window might liven things up a bit for him.”

It took Credence a moment to understand who she was referring to. Then he realized that _Percy_ was Mr. Graves. He smiled, and in the photograph, the girl smiled back. “That's more like it!” She said. “So who are you, anyhow? I saw you here a few weeks ago, but Percy is so tight-lipped about his life...”

Credence looked at the photograph, frowning. How did he answer that question? What was he to Mr. Graves?

Before he could think of an answer, the girl was standing up, waving her hand dismissively. “Fine, fine, don't tell me. I'll get it out of him eventually,” She said. “Well I've got to be going now, so many other paintings to visit around the city, you know...” She walked towards the edge of the frame and was gone, leaving just the desk and backdrop behind. Credence stared at the empty picture frame, wondering at what point this was all going to be too much for him.

There was a tapping sound at the window, and Credence jumped slightly. He looked, but didn't see anything in the view. After a moment it occurred to him that if the view was only magic, it probably _wouldn't_ be showing what was actually out there. He stepped cautiously towards it, and threw off the latch. Before he could open it to see what was out there, a bird flew straight into the apartment. And not a pigeon, like the ones that were always getting into their church. This was an owl. A big one, too, bigger than any of the ones he had ever seen. It settled on a perch near the window and began cleaning its feathers.

Credence figured it must live here, but why Mr. Graves would own an owl was anyone's guess. The owl was brown in colour, with flecks of white here and there. It had large black eyes and once it had finished cleaning itself, it stared straight at Credence with a somewhat haunting stare.

The owl and the view weren't the only thing different about Mr. Graves' apartment, and Credence passed the time wandering around the room and looking at everything. It was filled with strange instruments and tools, some of which began emitting loud screeching noises when he got to close and at least one of which that seemed to think he was up to no good, and kept threatening to alert the authorities.

Hours seemed to pass before Mr. Graves returned, although Credence wasn't sure how long it was exactly, as the only clock on the wall displayed the movements of the stars and planets, instead of telling him what the time was. When he looked closer at it, and mumbled under his breath that he wish he knew that the time was, the clock replied that it was none of his business.

Finally Credence again heard the cracking sound that signalled Mr. Graves' reappearance, and then there was, standing the middle of his apartment and look a bit exhausted.

“Everything's gone to hell in a hand basket,” Graves muttered, collapsing back on his couch. Credence shifted around nervously on his feet, feeling guilty. If he hadn't laughed at his mother, none of this would have happened.

“Do you know how many no-maj's I had to obliviate today? Seven. And that's just what _I_ did. There were a least a dozen others out there doing the same. And lord, Tina—” He shook his head, and looked at Credence. “I could really use a drink right now.”

Credence clasped his hands together, swallowing. “What... what happened to her?”

Graves shut his eyes. “She's out. I tried—I tried to intervene, tried to help her but...” He shook his head. After a moment, he opened his eyes again and looked at Credence.

“They... she's been fired?” Credence asked. He realized of course, that he had absolutely no idea she had been fired _from,_ but he felt awful for her all the same.

Graves shook his head. “Not fired, no. But she has been demoted, severely.” He sighed, and rubbed his eyes. “Absolute catastrophe.”

Credence began wringing his hands even harder, feeling ill. This was all his fault. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “If I hadn't... it was because of me, if I'd just...” He gritted his teeth. It had been one thing when his incompetence had been ruining his own life, but now here it was spreading to others like a virus. Here he was, spending a fortnight wishing he could see Mr. Graves again, when the best thing he could do for him would be to get out of his life and leave him in peace. If he truly cared for him, then he would walk out of his door and never speak to him again. “I should go—”

Taking a step towards the door, Credence felt himself beginning to shake. All he'd wanted was to have a friend, to have someone to turn to and confide in. Mother always said that to covet was a sin, but he hadn't truly believed her until now. Perhaps it _was_ a sin to want what could never be his. And now his sin had ruined someone's life, someone who had been kind to him. Protected him.

He would not let the same happen to Mr. Graves.

Credence stopped, feeling a hand on his shoulder. “It's not your fault, Credence,” Graves said softly. “Please, stay. We... we should talk.”

Credence allowed himself to be drawn back over to the couch, and took a seat next to Mr. Graves. “Tea?” He offered, pulling out his wand and waving it. The kettle turned itself on and two mugs exited the cupboard on their own. With in a few moments the tea was ready and whisking itself over to Credence, followed by a tray with milk and sugar on it.

One mug floated over to Credence, who stared at it for a moment. It shook itself impatiently, spilling a few drops of hot liquid on Credence's leg. Fearing being scalded if he said no, Credence took the tea. It still tasted bitter, but Credence was beginning to suspect that was just how Graves liked his tea.

“I suppose you're wondering why you haven't seen me for a while,” Mr. Graves began slowly, not looking directly at Credence.

“It's alright,” Credence said glumly, staring into his cup of tea. “I understand, you don't need to explain. What I did was wrong, I know that.”

Graves frowned. “No, it's not that...” He paused. “Not entirely.”

Credence wished he wouldn't sugar coat things for him. He'd much prefer Mr. Graves just come out and say he had horrified and disgusted him, and he'd been avoiding him because the very sight of Credence disturbed him.

Graves was silent for a few moments. “Credence, you and I... it simply can't happen. Not like that.” Graves glanced at him quickly, and then looked away again. “I'm sorry.”

Credence nodded. He had, of course, anticipated this. However he had not anticipated how terrible hearing it out loud would actually make him feel.

“I know,” Credence said, his voice cracking slightly. “I'm sorry, I never should have... I know it's a sin, I'm sorry.”

Graves frowned. “Sin? What are you talking about?” He sighed, suddenly exasperated. “Credence, it's not because you're a man. It has nothing to do with that, at all. I know no-maj's are all up in arms about that sort of thing, but no one in the wizarding community cares.”

Credence blinked. “They... they don't?”

Graves shook his head. “What they care about is that you're a no-maj. Legally speaking, I'm not even allowed to be your friend.”

“Oh.” Credence wasn't sure that made him feel any better. “So... you don't care if I...”

Graves raised an eyebrow. “Do you care if I do?” He asked.

Credence shook his head quickly. He stared at Mr. Graves. “Um... do you?”

Graves shrugged. “I'm not particular.”

Credence nodded, and deciding that he did feel a bit better. Despite Mr. Graves' words, and despite knowing better himself, he felt a swell of hope. He tried to crush it down, tell himself to _listen_ to what Mr. Graves said, that nothing could ever happen... but it wouldn't die, and Credence was sure he would pay for that dearly later on.

There was nothing more toxic than hope, he knew that well.

Credence looked at Mr. Graves, staring at his handsome face and watching him drink his tea. “Can I ask you something, Mr. Graves?” Credence asked, very quietly. Graves nodded. “Why did you take me here?”

Graves paused, and set his tea down. “I suppose I panicked.” He said slowly. Credence looked at him, unsure what he meant. “If they'd caught you, they would have oblivated you... I was worried you'd forget everything.”

“But wouldn't that have just put everything right?” Credence pressed. “You meant to do that the other night, wouldn't doing it now just have solved the problem?”

Graves swallowed. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Then why stop them?”

Graves looked at him, and for the first time Credence thought he was something like fear in his eyes. “Because then you would have forgotten everything.”

Credence was still processing that statement when Graves leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against Credence's mouth. Graves reached up and cupped Credence's face in his hand, holding him and kissing him softly. Credence found himself leaning in to the kiss, wanting more. The dark thing in him was like a ravenous animal, never satisfied with what it had. He opened his mouth slightly and pressed harder against Graves, craving something he did not fully understand.

Graves pulled back, and it took all Credence had to let him go, to not chase him in search of more of what he kept telling himself he could not have. Graves sighed, very quietly, his eyes searching Credence's face.

“Why did you do that?” Credence asked quietly.

The look on Graves' face suggested he didn't quite know.

 


	5. Chapter 5

After kissing him, Graves was quiet for several minutes. Credence watched him carefully, wishing he could understand what Graves was thinking. He wondered if Graves was perhaps just as confused as he was about what was happening. He had insisted that nothing could happen between them, that it was illegal for him to even be a friend to Credence, let alone something more. He had insisted... and then moments later, he had kissed him.

Just when Credence had started to wonder if he was ever going to say something, Graves finally spoke. “Credence, these past few weeks... disappearing like I did... it was wrong.” He looked Credence. “I'm sorry.”

“Oh... that's alright,” Credence said, feeling a bit uncertain. Usually he was the one giving out apologies, not receiving them. He prayed that the next thing to come out of Graves' mouth was not another apology, for having kissed him. He could take a lot, but not that.

“I thought it was best to discourage your feelings, to prevent anything further from happening,” Graves continued. “But I never should have left you alone like I did. I promise, I won't do that again.”

Credence nodded, not sure he believed him. Why Graves seemed interested in him now, he couldn't say, but he was fairly certain he would not be able to hold that interest for long.

Graves put a hand on Credence's knee. “I care about you, Credence.” He said, very quietly. Credence could sense there was a _but_ coming. “But if anyone found out... my career, my whole life. It would be destroyed. We'd always have to hide, we could never been open about it...”

“I have to hide anyways,” Credence mumbled. Slowly, he looked up at Graves. “At least this way I wouldn't be hiding alone.”

Graves breathed in sharply, and looked away. There was a somewhat pained look on his face. Credence realized this must have been hard for him, and he wasn't helping at all. He decided to make it easy. “I'll go.”

He stood up and walked towards the door. Graves stood up as well, and Credence wondered if he was going to stop him again.

“I'll come see you, later on.” Graves said, following him to the door. “You don't have to be alone.”

Credence frowned. “I thought we weren't allowed to be friends,” he reminded him.

Graves hesitated. “We're not... but everyone has to interact with no-majs from time to time, to get around. If I'm every questioned I'll just say I was keeping tabs on you, as a way to monitor the Second Salemers.”

Credence nodded. It wasn't as much as he had hoped for, but it was more than he'd expected. At least he'd still get to see Mr. Graves, from time to time.

Graves opened the door for him and Credence stepped into the hallway. “Credence, wait,” Graves said. Credence stopped and turned around. Had Graves changed his mind? “You don't have to walk back,” he said. Credence's heart sank. “I could take you, if you'd like..”

Credence thought of the horrible rushing and squeezing feeling he'd experienced being transported by Graves the first time. He was in no hurry to experience that again, any time soon. “It's alright.” He said. “I don't mind walking.”

He turned and headed down the stairs before Graves could say another word.

 

***

 

_There was darkness, and a great rushing sound mixed with what Credence thought may have been screaming. Was it just the wind, or a woman's voice? It was so high and so loud, he couldn't tell. But he thought it might have been trying to say something, something important._

_It was so dark, where Credence was. He couldn't see anything around him, and if he'd had a hand he doubted he would have been able to see it in front of his face. If he'd had a face. But where had his hand and face gone...? That was strange, wasn't it... to have no hands, nor a face, nor feet... It was if he had been spread out very thin inside the darkness, pressed flat until he was everywhere and also nowhere at all. Inside the darkness, with the screaming wind pressing in on him, someone told him something. A long time ago, someone made him promise something... and that promise was hurting him now. The pain of it was killing him, eating him up from the inside out. Soon there would be nothing of him left._

_But before he was gone, he would make sure the rest of them felt his pain, too._

 

***  
  


It happened again. Credence found himself in the alleyway near their church, having no memory of how he'd gotten there. He remembered leaving Graves' apartment building, walking away and fighting against tears. And then suddenly, he was here. Time had passed, that was clear by the darkness in the sky overhead... but Credence could recall none of it.

Credence pressed himself back against the alley wall, trying to breathe. To think. This had only happened to him a few times before, spread out over the years. He would go so long without an incident that he would allow himself to forget about it, to push it away... but it would always come back. What was happening to him? Where had all that time gone?

Trying as best he could to gather himself, Credence made his way home. After realizing how late it had become he had expected a lashing, but apparently their mother had retired to be early that evening. It was only Modesty and Chastity waiting for him when he entered, although Chastity did her best impression of their mother as she scolded him for being so late. However, Chastity's reprimanding came without accompaniment from his belt, so he much preferred it.

When he went to bed that night, Credence had far too much on his mind to consider sleep. What had happened to him after he left Mr. Graves' apartment? Where had he gone, what had he done?

And then, of course, there was Mr. Graves. He had saved Credence from obliviation, taken him back to his apartment and kissed him. And God, what a kiss it had been. Better than their first, when Credence had initiated it. Just thinking about it made his heart ache, and warmness grew inside his stomach. Credence knew that warmth, and knew the dangers of it as well. How easily to could spread to other parts of him, parts that demanded attention Credence knew should not be paid.

He wondered when the next time he would get to see Mr. Graves would be. If he would come to their next meeting, or find Credence in the streets as he handed out his leaflets. He wondered if it would be tomorrow, or weeks from now. He didn't think he could handle such a long absence, not after the kiss.

It seemed entirely unfair of Mr. Graves to do that, kiss Credence like that and insist nothing could happen. It wasn't right. Credence knew he shouldn't want him like he did, but the fact of the matter was that he _did_ want him, and to get such a wonderful taste of what having him would be like, only for it to be taken away again seemed cruel. Perhaps that was his punishment, then. To have what he desired so close, close enough to touch and hold and yet have it all be impossible.

Credence supposed he could make his peace with that punishment, cruel as it was. He was used to life's cruelty’s, and one more on top of a heaping pile wouldn't make much more difference.

Despite thoughts of day behind him running amok through his head, sleep did eventually take Credence, deep in the early hours of the morning. And with sleep came dreams, as it always did.

Dreams had never been a pleasant experience for Credence. For every nice dream where he was petting a small puppy, came a thousand others where he was being lashed by his mother, or strangled by his own belt, or eaten to death by flesh-eating slugs. In his dreams he relived the worst parts of his past, and awoke sweating and gasping for breath, full of terror. As a small bit of mercy, however, it seemed to go that the more terrible the dream was, the more difficulty he would have recalling it later on.

The dream that came to him that night was... different than those.

At its start, it had the promise of being an exceptionally pleasant dream.

He was with Mr. Graves, and they'd gone to see a new show that was the talk of the town. It was a funny show, and from the very start Credence could tell Mr. Graves was not enjoying it. _Let's go then,_ Credence told him. _We don't need to stay._

But Mr. Graves insisted they stay. _You like it,_ Graves said. And that was all there was to it. Credence liked it, so they would stay.

Sometime during the show, Mr. Graves leaned over to Credence and pressed a gentle kiss against his mouth. No one around them noticed, and if they did, they did not care. Credence kissed him back, feeling himself grow hungry for more. And then, they were no longer at the show. They were back at Mr. Graves' apartment and this time Credence knew he would be allowed to kiss Mr. Graves without stopping.

That dangerous warmth had spread throughout every inch of Credence's body and for the first time in his life he did not fight it. In fact, he revelled in it and let it drive him forwards, pulling Mr. Graves in closer and kissing him harder. He wanted him, more than he'd ever wanted something in his whole life. He didn't know what to do with that want, but Mr. Graves did. _Tell me to stop, if you want me to Credence,_ he whispered, sinking to his knees in front of him.

_Never stop,_ Credence told him. _Please, never stop._

 

_***_

 

Not for the first time, Credence awake from his dream sweating and gasping for breath. However, this time was quite different than the others, as this time it was not from terror that his breath was short.

He took his time getting ready for the day, carefully cleaning himself up and washing his pajamas. He dressed slowly, feeling a bit as if he was moving around in a daze. Never before had he had a dream like that. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He'd had dreams similar to that before, but never before had they been so vivid, or felt so real... or been about someone he knew. Usually thoughts of them slipped away as he awoke the next morning, not stayed so close to the front of his mind that Credence still felt as if he were experiencing the dream all over again, each moment.

When he finally arrived downstairs, Credence was rewarded for his dilatory movements by being told there was no time for him to eat breakfast. They were off first thing to their meeting, at a park a few streets over.

Stomach rumbling and head still swimming with sinful thoughts, Credence followed behind his sisters and mother as they headed to the park. It was a nice day, with the sun shining high and warm above them, and a clean, crisp feel to the air. Credence was unable to enjoy it, however, as he somehow felt as if everyone who looked at him was able to see the thoughts in his head displayed upon his face. Each passerby knew his secret and shame, and each one of them was disgusted by him.

Once at the park, Credence tried his best to listen to his mothers speech and put all thoughts of Mr. Graves out of his head. When they'd spoken the day before, Graves had been very clear that nothing could ever happen between them. Even friendship was out of the question, much to Credence's disappointment. What good would it do then, to entertain such disturbing fantasies? No good at all.

Trying his hardest to focus on what was happening around him, Credence looked out into the crowd of people who had gathered to listen to his mother, and realized that there was more than one familar face staring back at him. The first was the young man from the day before, who had been trying to question Credence right before his mother had slapped him. He was back, and despite having his memory wiped, was clearly still eager to learn what he could about witches.

The second familiar face, was Ms. Goldstein. She had her collar pulled up as if she was trying to hide her face, but Credence could see her quite plainly. He wondered what she was doing here, if Mr. Graves had said she was demoted? He had assumed she and Graves had been trailing his mother and their group as part of whatever they did for a living, but maybe he had been wrong? But why else would she still be here _..._

Credence moved away from his mother, handing out a few leaflets as he attempted to make his way over to Ms. Goldstein. However, before he could get close he was intercepted.

“Hello,” Said the young man from the day before. “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a second.”

Credence stared at him, and felt like sighing. This again?

“The name's Langdon Shaw,” The young man said. He held out his hand, presumably for Credence to shake.

Credence looked down at the hand offered to him, and slowly reached out and shook it. “Credence.” He said quietly.

Shaw smiled. “So—”

But Credence already knew what was coming. “You want to know why we think there are witches in New York,” he said.

Shaw looked surprised. “Uh, well... yeah,” he said, looking a bit awed. “That's exactly what I wanted to know.”

Several feet back from Shaw, Credence saw Ms. Goldstein slip away. His shoulders sank slightly. He wished he'd been able to speak with her. He'd tell her how sorry he was, that he'd caused her to lose her job. And he'd thank her, sincerely thank her, for defending him. It meant more to him than he could say. She had defended him, come to his rescue at great personal cost and she'd done it for absolutely no reason. He would never be able to repay her.

Credence looked back to Shaw, and resolved that he would still not help him. “My mother can tell you everything she knows, once the meeting has ended. She's has a lot more information than I do.”

Shaw nodded, and glanced over to his mother. “Right. Ok, I'll wait. Thanks.” He clapped Credence on the shoulder, just a bit too hard and Credence winced. The young man failed to noticed, and wandered off into the crowd.

After the meeting, Credence was sent to the business district, to hand out more leaflets. He did so with even less enthusiasm than usual, due to the ever-growing hunger in his stomach. It was past lunch time now, and he still hadn't had anything to eat. Usually he'd be growing hungry by this time anyways, as breakfast typically wasn't a very large meal (not that any of his meals were) but without anything in his stomach, standing in the crowded streets as strangers stomped past him was even more unbearable.

“Credence,”

Credence instantly felt his back straighten, hearing the soft voice of Mr. Graves from behind him. He turned around quickly, and saw him standing there, regarding him with a disapproving look.

“Are you alright?” Graves asked, stepping towards him. “You seem dour.”

Credence could have laughed at that. “Don't I always?” He mumbled.

Mr. Graves considered this. “More so than usual. Something's wrong?”

Credence shook his head, electing to look at the ground instead of Mr. Graves. Already the lurid images of his dream from the night before had begun to play in his head, as if they were his own personal picture show. How could he possibly look at Mr. Graves after the things he'd dreamt him doing? How could he _talk_ to him, ever again?

“Credence...” Graves stepped closer, and while normally Credence would have relished the closeness, now he stepped back. “Tell me,” He asked, his voice still soft.

_Tell me to stop, if you want me to, Credence,_ Graves had said in his dream, right before—

Credence felt his face growing hot. He couldn't do this, had no idea how to do this. What sort of a terrible person was he, to think of Mr. Graves in such a way after Graves had specifically told him they could never be anything like that to each other? Graves had given him no such permission, to picture him like that, doing those things... he may not have been able to help the dream, but he still somehow felt as if he had violated Mr. Graves.

He didn't deserve his concern.

“It's nothing,” He muttered, turning away. “Just hungry.... I skipped breakfast.”

Mr. Graves put a hand on Credence's face and gently turned him back towards him. Credence's heart began to beat quickly in his chest. “Is that all?” He asked.

Credence lifted his eyes to meet Mr. Graves' and the moment they met he regretted it. Graves was a wizard, and more than once Credence had gotten the impression that he could read minds. What if looked into Credence's and saw what he'd dreamt? What would he think, how horrified would he be? Credence couldn't let that happen. It would kill him, he was sure.

With great difficulty, Credence wrenched himself away from Mr. Graves. “I have to go,” He sputtered, already heading down the street. He decided not to offer any excuse or reason for his sudden departure, because they both knew that Credence had nowhere to go anyhow.

Credence forced himself to look forward as he hurried away, despite wanting several times to stop and see if Mr. Graves was still standing there, still watching him. Somehow he felt as if he was, but he did not dare look back and see.

He had felt before that it was only while talking to Mr. Graves that he could be seen—not seen as he was, pathetic and miserable, a blight to all who looked at him—but seen as he _could_ be. Strong, worthwhile. Complete. When speaking with Mr. Graves, Credence wasn't the sad wretch he'd always been, but someone infinitely better, smarter. He could see a whole new version of himself reflected in Mr. Graves' eyes, someone who smiled when people talked to him, and who made people smile back. Someone who joked easily and laughed loudly, someone unafraid and happy. He had seen the possibility of this person in the warm brown eyes of Mr. Graves, and he had longed for him.

But that person could never be, Credence knew. Credence was a coward, and so he would turn from Mr. Graves and the person he could have been for him. He would hide himself in the comfort of pain, and the familiarity of the terror and abuse he endured at his mothers hands. It wasn't safe, and it wasn't living, but it was what he knew.

For when he was Mr. Graves, it was too much. Too much possibility, too much hope and longing. Too much desire, too much lust. He wanted too much, and knew he could have none of it. Better to turn from it all from the start. Mr. Graves could give him too much, and not enough. He could give him hope, but Credence knew that hope was for fools.

Not for the first time, but what would hopefully be for the last, Credence vowed to be a fool no longer.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay between chapters—hopefully I'll have more time this week to write, and will be able to get a few up before things get busy again. 
> 
> I wanted to thank you all for your interest in this story, every review and kudos means the world to me. I wasn't so sure about this story when I started, and I sort of thought that whether I continued it would be based on the response it got. Well, I think this story has gotten a better response than anything I've ever posted! So thank you all, VERY much, and I hope you continue to like what I write :)


	6. Chapter 6

  
If life for Credence Barebone had been difficult and unpleasant before, it was nothing to what it had become lately. A person trapped in a black and white room all of their life can live there quite peacefully, as long as they never have anything compare it to. And while Credence wouldn't have exactly called his life peaceful, with the frequent beatings and constant terror, it had been almost all he'd known.

But now... now he had stepped out of his room, and seen colour. He had seen blue skies and sparkling beaches in windows that should have led out to a dreary city landscape. He had seen portraits move, and spoken to them as if they were live people— even been harassed by appliances. He had travelled across the city in the blink of an eye, and felt wounds that should have taken weeks to disappear, heal over in an instant.

He had seen magic.

After that, to step back inside his black and white room... it was unbearable.

All the worse was that this had been his choice.

Mr. Graves had tried several times, over the last month, to get in contact with Credence. He came around to their meetings weekly (narrowly missing Ms. Goldstein on more than one occasion). He waited for him in the alley by their church. He popped up at all of the usual corners of the city where Credence had been known to go and hand out pamphlets.

Credence refused to speak with him. There brief time together had been... well, it had been what it was. But now it was over. Credence would never have what he wanted, and he was sure that in the end he would be better for it. He would not let the Devil take him, not quite so easily.

And yes, he was quite sure Mr. Graves was indeed the Devil. With all of his temptations and his magic, his easy good looks and his charm... how could he be anything but? He had bewitched Credence, quite literally, and wrapped his claws around his soul. And the warmth Credence felt in his presence, at the very thought of him... he was sure it was the fires of hell reaching up to him.

Credence refused to be so easily consumed.

He would fight this, and for the first time in his life, he would win. Despite the pain, despite the heart ache... he would not let himself burn.

 

***

 

Credence was slumping back towards the church when he was grabbed. He hadn't seen them coming, as he'd been too focused on putting one foot in front of the other as he made his way home. It had been a long, tiring day and Credence was eager for it be over.

The hand that grabbed him had shot out of a dark alleyway and pulled him in, and feeling blind terror grip him Credence shoved a fist out into the darkness and felt it collide with something solid.

_“Aw—fuck!”_

Credence blinked, his heart racing as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the alley. Mr. Graves was holding his nose as blood gushed out of it. Credence's eyes went wide. Whether or not he thought Mr. Graves may have been the Devil did not mean he meant him ill will.

He had definitely not meant to punch him in the face.

Mr. Graves swore again, and then pulled out his wand.

Credence stepped back, but Graves only pointed the wand at his own face, and muttered _“Episkey.”_ Credence heard a cracking sound, like a bone snapping back in place, and Graves straightened up.

“Hell of a right hook, Credence.”

Credence looked at the ground. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn't mean...”

“It's alright,” Graves said, pocketing his wand. “Someone grabs you from a dark alley, only natural...”

Credence frowned. “Why did you grab me?”

Mr. Graves regarded him for a moment. “You've been avoiding me.” He said. “Why?”

Credence shrugged, and looked away again. “I haven't been...” he lied.

Graves stepped towards him, and Credence took a step backwards. “I didn't ask 'have you been avoiding me,'” Graves said. Credence was somewhat surprised to find he didn't hear any anger in Graves' voice. He sounded calm, and if anything, somewhat hurt. “I stated it, as a fact.” Graves took another step towards him, and Credence found himself pressed back against the wall. “My question was why.”

Graves took another step forwards, but Credence had run out of steps back to take. Despite the closeness, Credence avoided looking at him.

“The last time I spoke to you, you were upset,” Mr. Graves continued. “Was it something I did?”

Credence shook his head. None of this was the fault of Mr. Graves. He couldn't help being who he was, and he couldn't help the effect he had on Credence. He may have likened him to the Devil, but Credence knew Graves didn't have an ounce of enmity towards him. He had only wanted to help.

Perhaps that was what made this so hard.

Graves seemed to be waiting for an answer, and slowly Credence shook his head. “Nothing you did...” He mumbled.

Graves placed his fingers under Credence's chin and gently lifted his face so that their eyes met. “Then why have you been avoiding me?” He asked, his voice still soft.

Looking into Graves' eyes and standing so close to him in the darkness, Credence found himself compelled to tell the truth. “I... I've been dreaming of you...”

Even as he had managed to avoid Mr. Graves during the day, each night for the past month there had been no escaping him in his dreams. In fact, each night they had only grown more vivid, more lurid... Each night before he slept he went down on his knees and prayed, prayed hard for a dreamless sleep. For nightmares, even. Anything but the twisted fantasies that played out in his mind each night.

And as the dreams grew worse, and as Credence fought against them... so did the instances where he would lose time. There had been three more occurrences throughout this last month, and that was more frequent than they had ever been.

Credence wondered if he was perhaps losing his mind.

Mr. Graves seemed to be expecting more, and his brow was furrowed slightly, not understanding. “Dreaming about me... ?”

Credence nodded slowly. “You—in my dreams, we—” He broke off, unable to say it out loud. His face was heating up and he desperately wanted to look away once more, look anywhere but Mr. Graves' eyes. Somehow he couldn't make himself, and their gazes remained locked.

A look of understanding came over Graves' face, and Credence desperately wished he were somewhere else. “Ah.” Graves said. He was quiet for a moment, and Credence wondered if he was deciding how best to tell Credence he never wanted to see him again. However, what he said instead was: “I need a drink.”

Graves stepped away from Credence, and held out his hand. Credence looked at the offered hand for a moment. He knew better than to take it, knew that taking it would lead him even deeper into a pit that contained nothing but lust and debauchery. He knew that this was it, the moment that decided everything for him. If he took Graves hand than he might as well walk himself straight into the second circle of hell. This was the moment that would prove whether or not he could be strong, and do the right thing. What would his mother want him to do?

“Well?” Graves asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you coming?”

Credence took his hand, and once again found himself plunged into the aimless dark.

 

***

 

When the terrible rushing, pressing feeling stopped and Credence found himself back on solid ground, he looked around and saw he had been taken to a tavern of some sort. He wanted to ask where they were, but feared that if he opened his mouth he may vomit once more.

“This is the _Sightless Sow,_ ” Mr. Graves informed him. “Try not to look too surprised at anything you see.”

Credence nodded, but at the moment didn't see anything particularly out of the ordinary. The establishment was dim, and somewhat run down looking. Most patrons were sitting in dark corners by themselves, nursing their drinks. At the booth closest to him, Credence saw a man with a bald head wave his hand, and a bottle of clear liquid began pouring itself into his cup. What surprised Credence the most was not the use of magic—he had somewhat assumed that this would be a wizarding establishment—but the fact that everyone around him was clearly drinking _alcohol._

Graves had taken him to a speakeasy.

Approaching the bar, Graves wrapped his knuckles on the warped wood to get the bartenders attention. The somewhat disgruntled elderly man behind the bar turned around slowly, and squinted at Graves. “What'ya want?”

“Odgen's, two fingers,” Graves said, rubbing his brow. “And a glass of Esk's, for my friend.”

“We're all out of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey,” The bartender grunted. “We've got Alhazred's.” As he spoke he gave a wave of his wand, and a bright blue bottle floated over and poured itself into a stout wine glass, which then slid over to Credence. The drink was dark purple, and seemed to sparkle slightly when Credence moved it.

Mr. Graves did not take this news well. “Out? How?”

The bartender sneered. “Got none left.”

Graves narrowed his eyes. “You just ran out?” He pressed, his tone seeming to indicate he found this hard to believe.

“What can I say? Been a lot of raids, lately. Business is suffering.”

Graves scoffed. “Raids? How would the No-Majs even find their way in here? You have to apparate in.”

Apparate? Credence wondered if that was the name for what they'd done, travelling from the alleyway to the _Sightless Sow_ in what he was sure was the blink of an eye.

The bartender bared his teeth. “Not the _No-Majs._ Macusa's the one who's been raiding us!”

A look of suspicion came over Graves face. “We don't have prohibition. What's Macusa trying to catch you doing?”

The bartender glanced away. “We got a lot of things coming and going from this place 'sides _gigglewater._ ” He said.

Graves smiled. He reached into his coat, and for a moment Credence thought he was going to pull out his wand. Instead he took out what looked to Credence like a wallet. Graves flipped it open, showing his badge and identification. At the sight of it, all of the colour drained from the bartenders thin face.

“And unless you want a full investigation as to what exactly that is, you're going to get me that firewhiskey. It would be a shame to break the rules here, but as it is my job...”

Looking as if he would very much like to throttle Graves, the bartender disappeared into the backroom for a moment. There were some clanking noises, and a lot of cursing, and when he came back out a moment later he was holding a bottle of amber liquid. He slammed this on the table in front of Graves, along with a tumbler, then stormed off once more.

Graves smiled slightly as he poured himself a glass of the whiskey. He took a sip from it, and sighed. “Needed that.” He muttered, putting the glass back down. He glanced at Credence. “Yours is safe, don't worry. Eskarina's Pearwood Wine is very mild and sweet. You'd probably have to drink the whole bottle to feel a thing.”

Credence looked back down at his shimmering glass, and tentatively took a sip from it. It was wonderful, warm and sweet but with an interesting tang to it. He'd never tasted anything like it before. He put the glass down, and looked at Mr. Graves. He had roughly a hundred questions running through his head, and no idea about where to start. Why had Mr. Graves taken him here? If they weren't allowed to be friends—or more—wasn't appearing together like this dangerous? Wasn't Credence, as a—what was the term? No-Maj? Wasn't he not even _allowed_ in places like this?

Credence opened his mouth slowly, not sure where to start. “Mr. Graves—”

“No one can tell what you are, Credence,” Graves replied, before the question had even formed on Credence's lips. “And if they could, that's the beauty of the _Sightless Sow._ When you're in here, you see nothing and you say nothing.” He stared down at his drink for a moment. “My little stunt just now is probably going to cost me.”

Credence nodded. It still seemed like a risky venture to him. “What's Macusa?” He asked, which had been next in his line of questions.

“My employers,” Graves mumbled. “It's our government—Magical Congress of the United States of America.”

“And... what do you do for them, exactly? What's your job?” It occurred to Credence how very little he actually knew about Mr. Graves. All of this time thinking about him, or trying not to... and he here was, barely knowing the man at all.

“I'm an Auror,” Graves said, taking another sip of his drink. “That primarily means I track and catch dark wizards, but another aspect is investigating any and all threats to the magical community.” He glanced at Credence. “For instance, a certain fear-mongering hate-group who've been drawing a _lot_ of attention to themselves as of late.”

Credence felt his face flush. Part of him found it very difficult to believe his mother was actually managing to make the magical world nervous. Another part of him thought they if truly knew her, they'd have been terrified. “Why is everyone so worried about us?” Credence asked. “We can't really be a threat, can we? Not to wizards...”

Graves raised his eyebrows and titled his head to the side. “You'd be surprised,” He said quietly. He sipped his drink slowly. “Rappaport’s Law is in place for a reason, outdated as it may seem. All of you caused us a lot of trouble, back in the day.”

“'Rappaport's Law?'” Credence question.

“It's the law that forbids wizards and No-Majs from integrating,” Graves explained. “And it's in place because of your mothers ancestors.”

Credence blinked. “My mother's—?”

Graves nodded. “The Barebones have been hunting witches a long time, Credence. It's why we're watching your mother so closely. Can't let history repeat itself...” He shook his head. “But that's not what we're hear to talk about. Come on.”

They moved from the spot at the bar into a dark, secluded corner, taking their drinks with them.

“Now, I know we've discussed that nothing can happen between us—even spending time like this, right... it's a risk—but I don't want you to hate yourself because of me. Your feelings, you need to know there's nothing wrong with them.”

Credence stared dourly back at Graves. “I don't... I don't hate myself because of you...” he said quietly.

“Well, then I don't want you to hate yourself at all, for any reason,” Graves replied.

Credence thought that seemed to be asking an awful lot. He looked away from Graves, instead choosing to stare down at his hands. “I don't know how to do this, Mr. Graves,” He whispered.

“I—I _can't_ do this. It's too much.”

“Do what, Credence?”

Credence forced himself to look Mr. Graves in the eye. _“You.”_ He said, feeling terrified even as the words left his lips. “These... the feelings I have for you—” He swallowed. “Wanting you the way I do. It's too much. I-I'm scared.”

Graves raised his eyebrows. “Scared of me?”

Credence shook his head. “Of myself. I'm scared of the things I'm feeling. I want them to stop, to go away.”

“You can't run from this. You can avoid me, that's fine, if it's what you want... but this is a part of who you are, and there's nothing wrong with it.”

Credence nodded slightly, wishing he could believe him and knowing he could not. _The Devil lies,_ whispered the little voice in his mind. _And his lies are always pretty._

Graves sighed deeply, and rubbed his temples. “I'm sorry,” he muttered. He took a long sip of his drink, and then looked at Credence. Credence wished he would stop apologizing to him. It made him feel pitied. “I didn't mean for any of this to happen.”

To avoid having to reply, Credence took a sip of his own drink. The sweetness of it seemed overwhelming now, and Credence was no longer sure he liked it very much.

Next to him, Mr. Graves was finishing up his own drink. He set the glass forcefully down, and looked at Credence. “Tell me, Credence,” he began. “What do you want to do?”

Credence could only stare blankly back, unsure what he was being asked.

“This... thing, between us, I know it's scary, but we can't continue like this.” Graves went on. “Running from each other, pretending we don't want what we obviously do...” He paused, eyes searching Credence's face. “Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it. Whatever it is.”

It took Credence a moment to rediscover his voice, and he shook himself slightly, realizing that the entire time Graves had been speaking, Credence had been staring at his mouth.

“What do you mean?” Credence asked, confused. He could not recall a time before when anyone had asked him what it was _he_ wanted to do. Why was Graves doing so now? If there was one thing Credence could not have been sure of, it was what he wanted.

“I mean... if what you want is to never see me again, consider it done.” Graves said, glancing away for a moment. “But if what you want is for us to be together...” he trailed off, and stared fixedly at Credence.

Credence stared back, his mind racing. Once again, he found himself presented with the chance he had been waiting for, the moment in which he would prove his strength to himself and tell Graves that whatever _might_ have been between them, it was time to end it. They would see each other no more, and Credence's life would return to what it had been before Graves had swept into it; painful, terrible and lonesome, perhaps—but in it's own way, safe. It might not have been a good life, but it was the life Credence had grown accustomed to.

For so long—as long as he could remember—Credence had longed for companionship. Someone outside his family to whom he could turn when things were hard, someone who would always be there for him. And then Graves had stepped into his world and brought magic and lust and all sorts of feelings Credence had never even known lived inside of him. And however strong the desire to run towards that was, Credence knew he could not.

To be with Graves would be to spurn everything he had been taught since Mary-Lou Barebone had taken him in. It would be to give in to every sin she had tried so hard to beat out of him, and let the Devil take him for his own. He would become to demon she had always said he was, wicked and unnatural.

Credence considered all of this, and as he did, he realized he did not care.

“I want you,” Credence said, the words rushing out of his mouth. “I've wanted you since the second I saw you. And—and I'm scared, I'm so scared of that but I just—” He shook his head. “I just want you, and that's it.”

Graves nodded. “Are you finished with your drink?” He asked quietly. Credence nodded. “Then let's get out of here.”

Graves took Credence's arm, and with the sound like a cracking whip, they vanished.

 


	7. Chapter 7

After staying out so late with Mr. Graves, Credence had anticipated a beating when he arrived home. He made his peace with that as he walked up the steps to their church. It would be painful to endure, he knew... but it would be worth it.

They'd gone back to Graves' apartment, after leaving the _Sightless Sow._ Credence managed to keep himself from vomiting once more in his sink, which was good because he doubted the sink would have tolerated it a second time.

Graves pulled off his coat, and after a small flick of his wand, the coat picked itself up and put itself away in the closet. Credence couldn't help but wonder if magically putting away his coat was the way Mr. Graves would always do things, or if he was somewhat showing off from Credence's benefit.

Once again, immediately after entering the apartment, Credence found himself drawn to the enchanted window, which was showing the tail end of a truly magnificent sunset over the beach. He walked over to it slowly, sure he'd never seen something quite so beautiful in his life.

“Not a bad view, hmm?” Graves commented, joining Credence at the window. “It was a gift, from my sister.” He gestured to the small portrait of the woman on the table, who had pulled out a small pocket mirror and was fixing her hair. “Penelope.”

Realizing she was being addressed, Penelope put away the mirror and gave Credence a big, flashy smile. “Oh, we've met,” She said. “He was here a while back, wandering around all by himself. Wouldn't tell me _why_ he was here, but—” Her smiled widened. “But Aunt Gertrude and Uncle Jimmy tell me that after I left, they saw you two _snogging._ ” She seemed very pleased with herself for knowing this. Graves sighed, deeply. “Snogging is an English term, you know,” Penelope went on to explain, which Credence appreciated because he had just been wondering what on earth that meant. “It means _kissing._ ”

The very tense smile Credence often saw Graves wear was once more back on his face. “Penny loves England,” he explained, sounding a bit tired. “The real Penny is living there, right now, studying the healing arts. Apparently they have some sort of famous hospital there, St. Mundungus or something.”

Penelope in the picture frowned. “You _know_ it's St. Mungos, Percy,” She chided. “Don't pretend you don't remember.”

Graves shrugged, and didn't seemed concerned.

Penelope shook her head, and then turned her attention to Credence. She squinted slightly. “How old are you? You seem a bit on the young side...”

Credence opened his mouth to respond, but Graves cut him off. “And that's enough for Penny tonight,” he said, leading Credence away. He opened the door to his bedroom, and hastened Credence inside. “My apologies, that photograph caught my sisters likeness a little too well.”

Credence nodded, and looked around Graves' bedroom. It was dimly lit, and there were no paintings in here. Credence supposed that was for privacy.

Turning back to Mr. Graves, Credence found he was being stared at. “What?” He asked, feeling put on the spot.

Mr. Graves stepped towards him, and put a hand on the back of his neck. His hand felt warm and reassuring against Credence's skin, and he breathed in slightly, feeling himself relax. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Graves asked, his voice low. “You can change your mind at any moment, you know.”

Credence nodded. He had already changed his mind about fourteen times since arriving in Mr. Graves' apartment, and then changed it back all over again. He leaned in towards Mr. Graves, who met him halfway and pressed his mouth against him. And just like in his dreams, Credence knew that this time there was no need to stop.

They kissed slowly, and Credence felt his heart hammering in his chest with such force that he thought it might burst at any moment. Unsure what to do with his hands, he found himself holding on to Graves' waist, gripping his shirt tightly as if he was afraid Graves might try to run away.

Credence felt the warmth starting to rise in his stomach, and a stiffness grew between his legs. He felt his face grow hot, and his grip on Graves grew tighter. He cried out, a moment later, when he felt Graves' hand move over him. He pulled back, embarrassed, and turned away. “I'm sorry,” he muttered, fearing he had hurt Mr. Graves' feelings. “I didn't mean to...”

“No, no it's my fault,” Graves replied, putting his hand against Credence's cheek and drawing him back in. “I should have asked, made sure you were comfortable before I...” He trailed off. “You just... you smell so good, I wasn't quite thinking. I apologize.”

Credence nodded, feeling a bit dazed. “Um... it's soap,” he said quietly.

Graves raised his eyebrows. “Sorry?”

Credence's cheeks burned again. “The smell... it's soap. I use... soap.” Why had he opened his mouth? He decided it would be better if he stopped talking, forever.

Graves surveyed him for a moment, and then smiled. “Soap is good,” he replied. “I use it myself.”

Credence nodded again, and wondered what the odds were of the floor beneath him opening up and swallowing him whole. Unfortunately, they seemed slim.

“Credence, I don't want to do anything you're not ready for,” Mr. Graves continued. “So why don't we take this slow?” He brushed his fingers gently over Credence's cheek. “We won't do anything you're not comfortable with.”

Graves took a seat on the edge of his bed, and Credence followed.

“I don't know what I'm comfortable with...” Credence said slowly. For all of his lurid fantasies, despite all of the things he had dreamt of doing with Graves... now that he was faced with it all in the real world he didn't think he could handle it.

“We can go as slowly as you need.”

Credence frowned. “Are you sure?” He asked. Mr. Graves as older, certainly more experienced. Wouldn't going at Credence's pace be frustrating for him?

“Absolutely,” Graves promised. “My sister might be too nosey for her own good, but she's right. You're young, and you've never experienced anything like this before—” He raised his eyebrows. “I'm assuming?”

Credence nodded.

“You've already been through so much, Credence...” Graves continued. “I won't be another source of pain for you... I want to give you something good.”

Credence looked at him, feeling a tightness in his chest he didn't quite understand. Perhaps it was because he could not recall a time in his life when someone had said they wanted something good for him. He looked at Mr. Graves, and quite desperately wished he could be something different for him. He wished he could change everything about himself, make himself into someone Graves deserved to be with. He wished he could tear away all of his issues and fear, all the hatred he had towards himself and his feelings.

“I'm sorry...” Credence found himself saying, once again.

Graves shook his head. “You've nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I—”

Graves took Credence's hand in his, and gave it a small squeeze. _“Nothing.”_ He repeated. Credence looked away, and Graves sighed. “Alright then, don't believe me.” He muttered.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. After a little while, Credence became aware that Graves had still not let go of his hand. It felt nice in his, warm and comforting. More than that, Credence realized that it felt somewhat easy... natural. Sitting there, holding Mr. Graves' hand... it wasn't too bad at all.

“Mr. Graves?” Credence began. “May I ask you a question?”

Graves glanced at him. “You don't need to ask permission to ask a question, Credence,” Graves replied. “You can just ask it.”

Credence paused. “...So may I?”

Graves stared at him, a look on his face that seemed to suggest he didn't quite know what to do. “Yes, go ahead.”

“Why do all your appliances talk?”

Graves seemed a bit surprised by the question. “Well, they don't all talk...” He started. “I'm not really sure why, to be quite honest. Something about being around magic just tends to make inanimate objects more... animated. It's as if the magic sort of seeps into them, and gives them their own kind of life, in a way.”

Credence nodded. “Is that why the pictures move, too?”

Considering this, Graves tilted his head a bit to the side. “I suppose it's a similar principle. Although, the ability to capture the personality of the subject is a talent more than anything. Just as the painter needs to be talented enough to capture a persons physical likeness, they need to have the right skills to replicate their other attributes as well.”

“It's amazing,” Credence said. “All of it... it's amazing. Magic—it's nothing like I was told it was. It's wonderful, not dangerous.”

“It can be dangerous, too, if used for the wrong reasons,” Mr. Graves cautioned. “Or by the wrong person. There are some very dark wizards out there, and they use their magic to do terrible things.”

“But there are good ones, too. Like you, and Ms. Goldstein. You said it's your job to catch dark wizards. To protect people.”

Mr. Graves nodded. “Yes,” Graves agreed. “And I promise, I will always protect you, Credence.”

 

***

 

They had continued to talk for hours, about magic and the things Graves had seen, about Credence and his hopes and dreams. They talked about the things they liked to do for fun (a short conversation, as neither of them had a real concept of having fun). They talked about their lives and their families, and Credence had confided in Graves his utter loneliness, and desire for companionship. Graves had placed a hand gently against Credence's face and told him that he need not be lonely any longer.

It was late into the night when Graves finally took Credence home, dropping him in the alleyway near the chapel so that no one would see them.

Mary-Lou Barebone was, of course, waiting for him when he arrived and though he tried to think of some excuse for being so late, nothing came to mind. To his surprise, she did not beat him. Acting in what she must have considered a merciful fashion, she merely told him that he could fend for himself in terms of meals for the next week. However, she warned that if this were to happen again, she would not be so kind.

Credence accepted his punishment quietly, and considered it penance for having so terribly strayed from his rightful path. The way he had enjoyed himself that night could only be balanced out with pain. He had so long been starved for affection, it was somehow fitting that finally indulging himself would result in actual starvation. And despite the pain that would soon nest itself in his belly, Credence went to bed that night with a smile on his face.

 

***

 

_The dreadful darkness was back, everywhere in Credence's mind. It was all he knew, and all he felt. And through the darkness someone was shouting his name, calling for him to remember, remember what he had promised._ Keep it down, force it down. Never let them know. _Credence cried out, a terrible and painful sound but it was lost, lost amongst the screams of others. He was afraid, so afraid of this terrible monster he had become but he was also angry. For so long he had lived in fear, cowered in darkness and cried himself to sleep. But now the darkness was seeping out, leaking into the daylight and it was_ their _turn to feel his fear. Their turn to cry, but have no one hear. Finally he could be who he was meant to, but this terrible freedom was ripping him apart from the inside out. Soon there would be nothing left, and finally, he would be at peace, free from the promise that had doomed his soul._

 

_***_

 

When Credence came to, there was only darkness to be seen. He had no idea where he was, but seemed to be lying in a puddle of some kind. His legs and feet were wet, and there was a truly horrendous smell in the air. Feeling for something around him, his fingers met with a slimy wall and he slowly pulled himself up. Somewhere in the distance, Credence could see a pin-prick of light, and he very carefully made his way towards it.

What time was it, Credence wondered as he made his way down what seemed to be a long hall. And where on earth was he? How had he gotten here?

The worry gnawing away at his stomach grew worse when he reached the light, and found himself looking up an open manhole; he was in the sewers. What could he possibly have been doing down there? How had he even gotten into the sewers?

He climbed out slowly, and made his way back home as quickly as he could.

Through the window of the chapel, Credence could see his mother and Chastity preparing for breakfast. He wondered if they had perhaps not noticed he was missing yet. Sneaking around the back, Credence caught sight of Modesty playing. She looked up when he approached, and wrinkled her nose.

“Credence, what's that smell?” She asked, taking a step back from him.

“I went for a walk this morning, and I fell into the sewers,” He lied. “I need to get back in without them noticing me. Can you help?”

Modesty crossed her arms over her chest. “You went for a walk?” She said, clearly skeptical. “In your _pajamas?_ ”

Credence glanced down, and realized that it was in fact in his pajamas.

Modesty was not buying it. “Ma says you've been behaving quite poorly,” She said. “She says if you keep this up, your _soul_ is in jeopardy. Your _soul,_ Credence!” She cried, concern written plainly upon her face.

“I know, and I... I'm sorry, Modesty, I really am—I'll do better, I swear it,” he said. “Just please, help me.”

Modesty looked him over, and after a long pause, she nodded. “I'll keep them busy,” she promised.

Credence smiled, and moved to give the young girl a hug, but she moved back. “Sorry, Credence.” She said. “But you smell really bad.”

Credence had to agree with her.

Modesty went around to the front of the house, and disappeared inside. A few moments later he heard her scream. He took this as his cue, and snuck in through the back door. Modesty was holding her hand in front of her, her face screwed up in pain as Chastity and their mother crowded around her in concern. He went up the stairs quietly, and winced when one of them creaked loudly. But Modesty just began to cry harder, and he was able to make it upstairs without them noticing. Once he was upstairs, the crying abruptly stopped, and Credence heard Modesty say that she felt she would likely survive.

Credence bathed hastily and changed into his clothes. He headed downstairs and tried to ignore the rumbling in his stomach as he helped the others clean up after breakfast. As he did so, his mother chided him for coming down so late, reminding him that sloth was, of course, a sin.

Accepting her criticism quietly as always, Credence was really only half listening to her. His mind was elsewhere, wondering he should bring up his problem to Mr. Graves. Would he know what to do? Perhaps... and if not, then maybe he would at least be able to help Credence sort out what was happening.

After breakfast was cleaned up, the Barebone family headed out for their usual meeting. Unfortunately for Credence, the day following his very unpleasant morning was almost equally unpleasant, as his growing hunger made even simple, every day tasks feel impossible. His only solace as the day dragged on and the hunger grew was that he would later see Mr. Graves. He did not know when, but the night before Graves promised to see him soon.

As it began to get later, and they returned to the church for a dinner Credence was not allowed to eat, he began to fantasize about going out with Mr. Graves. His fantasy was not much different from when he had first met him, but this time he no longer feared thinking of it as a date (or, he feared it less, at the very least).

Mr. Graves would take him out to dinner. He would order some sort of fancy wine, which would taste far better and more sweet than the wine his mother purchased for communion. Drinking it would make Credence's face flush with warmth and his head feel light, but he would love it just the same. They would talk about nothing much in particular, but the conversation would feel easy and natural. Credence would say something funny and Mr. Graves would smile that small, rare smile of his.

It was these sort of daydreams that would get Credence through most of the following week, as his hunger worsened and he saw hide nor hair of Mr. Graves. Terrible thoughts ran through his mind—Graves had grown sick of him, he'd decided he wanted someone who could satisfy his needs in bed, someone less timid and frightened—but he did his best to push them away, and think of better things. Spending the day with him, wandering about town, holding hands as they walked through the park.... returning to Graves' apartment and having an intimate dinner before retiring to the bedroom...

Still, despite his best efforts, worry still gnawed at him, at times even worse than the hunger. Both were terrible and all consuming. As it reached the weeks end, he lacked the strength to even leave his bed. Darkness and stars swam in front of his eyes and the room seemed to spin around him.

Credence awoke in the afternoon, finding Modesty pulling at his arm.

“Credence, wake up. Ma says you should come with me to the market. You've lain around enough for one day.”

Credence groaned. Evening keeping eyes open took strength he didn't have. “Ask Chastity...”

“Credence, please! It has to be _you—_ please, Credence!”

Modesty could not be dissuaded, and with great difficulty he pulled himself from his bed and dressed.

Holding his hand, Modesty led Credence outside and into the alley near their church. She let go of him and ran ahead to a pile of boxes, and as he stepped closer she pulled a few boxes apart and Credence saw she had placed a plate of food there. It wasn't much; a loaf of bread, a block of cheese, a few apples and a jar of their mothers canned vegetables.

“I'm sorry it isn't more, Credence...” She said. “And I'm sorry it took so long. I had to make sure Ma didn't catch me.”

Credence felt as if he might cry. “Modesty... if Ma knew, she'd—you'd get the belt.”

Modesty shrugged, and looked at her feet.

Feeling more grateful to his youngest sister than he could express, Credence ate the food slowly and tried to think of how he was going to repay her.

Of the food Modesty had brought, the bread was a bit stale and the apples were a little past ripe. The cheese was salty, and the vegetables were cold and bland. To Credence it was the best meal he had ever had.

After he had finished, he and Modesty did go to the market. They were picking through the apples when a voice behind Credence spoke his name.

“Credence,”

Turning around, Credence saw Mr. Graves. Looking at him, Credence felt as if he had not already been rejuvenated by the meal Modesty had provided, then one glimpse of Graves would have been enough to do it. He wanted to run into his arms, let himself sink into them and forget all of his troubles. He wanted to breath in the familiar scent of his cologne, and feel his stubble rub against his chin as he kissed him, long and slow.

But they were out in the open, where everyone could see them, Modesty included. And so he remained put.

“I need to speak with you,” Graves continued, his voice low. He turned to Modesty and gave her that tight-lipped smile he often wore. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a coin. “Why don't you get yourself some candy, while your brother and I talk?”

Modesty hesitated for a moment, looking from the coin in Graves' hand to Credence. He nodded, and a smile split across her face as she took the money and made a mad dash for the candy.

Placing a hand gently on his arm, Graves pulled Credence aside—far enough so that they would not be overheard, but close enough so that he could still keep an eye on Modesty.

“Have you heard any news about the disturbances in the city?” Graves asked. Credence shook his head. “Somethinghas been attacking people, destroying property. No one's been killed yet, but this thing is powerful. Macusa's been trying to keep it quiet, which likely explains why you haven't heard anything... but whatever this is, it's bigger than them. Bigger than all of us.”

Credence nodded, worried but unsure of how he could help. “Do you... do you have any idea of what's doing it?” he asked.

Graves nodded. “It's a child, Credence. A lost, scared child. I need to find it, and I need your help.”

Credence blinked. “A child...? How could a child do that sort of damage?”

“It's difficult to explain... it's as if a monster is manifesting itself out of this child's magic. They'll be no older than ten, and they won't have a clue what's happening to them. If Macusa finds them first, they'll kill it. They don't understand.” Graves paused. “Will you help me?”

“Of course,” Credence replied, almost without thought. “Anything.”

A smile almost touched Graves' face and Credence's heart leapt. Finally he could prove himself not to be entirely useless. Finally he could repay Mr. Graves for all of the kindness he had shown him.

“I had a vision, Credence, and in that vision I saw the child's power... and your mother. Whoever this child is, they're close to her.” He put his hands on Credence's shoulders, looking him dead in the eye. Credence's breath caught in his throat. “Credence, if you do this for me... everything will be different for you. I promise.”

Credence nodded. Over Graves' shoulder he saw Modesty heading back over, a fat bag of candy in hand.

“Tomorrow, the second you have a chance, meet me at the Woolworth building and tell me what you've found. We don't have much time.”

Credence frowned. “The Woolworth building—?”

Graves gave him the address. “It's the headquarters of Macusa. I'll be waiting,” he said.

Modesty reached them, and with a last look at Credence, Graves strode away, vanishing into the crowd.

“Who was he?” Modesty asked, popping a piece of salt-water taffy into her mouth.

Credence allowed himself a small smile. “A friend,” he replied.

 


	8. Chapter 8

As he and Modesty headed home, Credence was filled with determination to find the child Mr. Graves had spoken of. It wasn't until dinner time (the final meal Credence would not be allowed to eat) and all the usuals began filing in to their church looking for their supper that Credence realized what a tall task that was.

“A child close to your mother” was all Mr. Graves had told him. That could be any of hundreds. His mother was responsible for feeding practically every poor child in the city. They came to her with hungry bellies, and she sent them home with food and a thick stack of anti-witch leaflets to distribute to anyone they met. They were her ultimate weapon, eager to please her and more ambitious than her own children. They needed to eat, and she needed to get her word out. It was the perfect symbiotic relationship.

But unbeknownst to his mother, one of these children was not what they seemed. One of them was a witch. But _which_ was the witch? And how was Credence to tell? They all looked normal to him, but he had not a clue what he was looking for. If one were to levitate off the ground, or mention in passing how they sure did love turning into a wild monster and rampaging around the city, then perhaps Credence would have an easier time.

Alas, this did not happen.

Credence thought back to all of the ways his mother had often told him a witch could be spotted. That he could see, none of the children in that day had any strange moles or marks upon their person. One little girl did have a red scar over her nose, and Credence kept a close eye on her until he remembered she'd gotten that playing hopscotch with Modesty (she had hopped onto their piece of chalk and landed face down on the pavement).

Did any of the children have pets? Witches were known to keep familiars about them, according to his mother. The devil had been known to whisper through the moves of these animals, and instruct the witch in their evil bidding.

Perhaps he could trick the children into reciting the Lords prayer—witches were unable to do so, his mother told him. Unless, of course, the devil was allowing them to do so in order to trick them, as had been known to happen. That method didn't strike Credence as particularly fool proof.

But there was another problem with all of these methods, and that was that Credence was reasonably sure his mother hadn't a clue how to spot an actual witch. She hadn't recognized Ms. Goldstein or Mr. Graves as one, and if Macusa was watching her then it was possible countless others had been present at her meetings before. Witches were right under his mothers noes, and she was absolutely blind to them. And if his mother, who had dedicated her _life_ to outing witches, couldn't spot a witch when it came up to her and shook her hand, how was Credence to do it?

These were the questions he pondered as he helped his sisters and mother clean up after dinner. As Chastity and their mother discussed where their meeting would be help the next day, Credence worried over what he was going to tell Mr. Graves. As he worried and wondered, something his mother was saying caught his attention.

“...destruction, all up and down Market Street. No one knows what happened. Can you imagine? Something causing such chaos, practically destroying a _building_ and no one saw a thing?”

Credence blinked, and wondered if they were talking about the very thing Mr. Graves had mentioned to Credence.

“But surely people are asking questions?” Chastity was saying, pausing as she scrubbed the dishes.

Mary-Lou's face lit up, and she jabbed a finger at Chastity. “Of course they are!” She cried. “People _want_ to know the truth. But it's being kept from them. And it's _our_ job to give it to them. Thew newspapers talk of gas leaks, of plumbing mishaps—” she scoffed, as if this idea was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. “But they don't know the truth. We do, and it is our _duty_ to educate those seeking answers.”

Credence swallowed. “Do you... do you know who's doing it?” He asked, trying to sound casual.

His mother turned to him, frowning. “Witches, Credence. I thought that was clear.”

“No, I know... but do you have an idea, perhaps... of who those witches are?”

“No,” His mother smiled as she said this, which Credence was sure could lead to nothing good. “I don't. However, I believe I've found a way in which we might discover this,” She finished clearing the table, and straightened up. “What is the greatest weapon we have at our disposal, in the fight against evil?”

Credence knew the answer his mother expected, but said nothing. Modesty's hand, however, shot into the air. “Words!” She said.

Their mother smiled. “Exactly. We have our words. Words are a _powerful_ weapon, but not if nobody can hear them. And we can hold our meeting and hand out our leaflets—and we will, of course—but our reach is still so small, and our words fall on such doubtful ears. People _want_ to know the truth, they do. But oftentimes they can't _recognize_ the truth when it presents itself. They'd rather ignore what's staring them plain in the face and pretend everything is fine and dandy. But somethings people simply can't ignore.”

His mother turned to him. “Credence, when most men look for the truth, where do they go? What do people trust above all else, to provide them with answers?”

Credence frowned. He hated to be put on the spot like this. Even a simple question could stump him, if he wasn't ready for it. Trying to think very quickly, he proposed the first thing that came to mind: “The newspaper?”

To his relief, his mother grinned. “Exactly! They turn to the newspapers. They trust that the news they're reading is giving them the _true story._ They could hear the truth shouted at them from the rooftop of every building in the city, but it's not printed in the morning paper then they won't believe it. So what, then, do we do?”

Mary-Lou paused, and looked around at her children. “We need people to trust our truth—the _only_ truth—but what people trust is the paper. So that's where we must put the truth.”

Chastity looked confused. “You want to get a story in the papers?” She looked between Credence and Modesty. “But how?”

“That's a good question, Chastity,” she said. “You may have seen a certain young man by the name of Langdon Shaw at a few of our meetings recently. Well, he happens to be none other than the son of newspaper mogul Henry Shaw Senior. Langdon has promised to get us a meeting with his father. Tomorrow. And with the influence and power of the New-York Clarion on our side, more people will learn the truth behind the strange happenings in the city. The reach of the Second Salemers will expand, and soon the whole city will be behind us. There will no where for them to hide.”

His mother looked very pleased with herself and her plan, but Credence didn't think it would be any help to him. Mr. Graves wanted information tomorrow, and his mothers plan struck him as fairly long-term. He needed to figure out who the child was, and was certain he was not going to get the help of the entire city in doing so.

At this moment, Credence would have settled for the help of just one person.

 

***

 

The following morning, Credence was finally allowed to eat. He wasn't as starving as he had been before Modesty had fed him, but going the night without food had still left a pit in his stomach that he was glad to fill. After breakfast they headed the bank, where his mother planned to deliver her sermon for the day. Credence tried to concentrate on getting his leaflets out to those at their meeting, but it was difficult when he knew that later that evening he would be meeting with Mr. Graves, and be unable to tell him anything useful about the child he was looking for.

Ms. Goldstein was there again, trying to blend into the crowd and hiding behind a hot dog and an upturned collar. He wondered if she was aware of what was happening in the city, and if she too was looking for the child. Perhaps they could work together. Surely it would be easier to have three of them searching, than just Credence. Graves had told him that if Macusa found the child before they did, then they would kill it, but Ms. Goldstein wasn't like that. She would help, he was sure...

Sometime during the meeting, Credence lost track of Ms. Goldstein and couldn’t find where she had gone. He supposed it was just him then. It usually was.

At dinner that evening, Credence hopelessly searched the faces of each child that came to get their food, desperate to find anything that stood out to him. One boy approached, who had not been there the other day. He had a large birth mark on his face, and Credence stopped serving soup for a moment to stare at him.

The boy appeared nervous as he approached them. “Is it a witch’s mark, ma’am?” He asked.

Mary-Lou reached out and touched his face, examining the mark. She smiled. “No. He’s okay.”

Relieved, the boy took his soup and moved on, but Credence stared after him. Could that be the child he was looking for? How would he know? Something in his gut told him it wasn't.

But then which child was?

 

***

 

After dinner was finished with and everything had been cleaned and put away, Langdon Shaw arrived at their doorstep to accompany them to the Shaw Tower. They took the elevator up, which Modesty found tremendously exciting and Credence found somewhat frightening. It seemed all too easy to imagine whatever cord was holding them snapping under the weight and sending them crashing down thirty or so stories to their death.

His nerves continued to be tested when they entered the newsroom, which was absolutely swarming with busy and tired looking people. Too many people for Credence's comfort. The room smelled of sweat and anxiety, and Credence didn't like it at all.

All these people running around, some staring at them, some too busy to do more than glance—he felt like more of an outsider than ever before. It was a harsh reminder how very cut off he and his siblings were, from the outside world. They lived in their little bubble of hate and fear, and around them the rest of the world was blossoming, growing, changing all the time. And Credence was stuck, cut off from it all.

Langdon, however, seemed to be in his element. He led them through the room with an excited smile, telling them things that Credence really couldn't be bothered to listen to. As they neared the office at the back of the floor, someone tried to stop them from entering, but Langdon could not be put off.

They approached the office, and Langdon went ahead of them, bursting though the doors. Credence hesitated as his mother and siblings followed after him. He could hear voices from inside, and Credence was guessing from their tone that Langdon was not as welcome there as he had advertised himself to be.

“—busy here, Langdon. Working on his campaign. We don’t have time for this...”

Besides Langdon, two other men were inside office. One older, white-haired and annoyed looking, and the other younger and stern.

“This is Mary Lou Barebone from the New Salem Philanthropic Society,” Langdon was saying. “And she’s got a big story for you!”

The older man, who Credence was assuming was Langdon's father, did not look impressed. “Oh, she has, has she?

Langdon nodded eagerly. “There’s strange things going on all over the city. The people behind this—they are not like you and me. This is witchcraft, don’t you see?”

Langdon's father looked doubtful. “Langdon...”

“She doesn't want any money,” Langdon added quickly.

Shaw Sr. smiled at this. “Then either her story is worthless, or she’s lying about the cost. Nobody gives away anything valuable for free.”

Mary-Lou stepped forward, smiling politely. “You are right, Mr. Shaw.” She sounded calm, confident. “What we desire is infinitely more valuable than money: It’s your influence. Millions of people read your newspapers and they need to be made aware about this danger.”

Confident as she sounded, Credence doubted there was anything they could have said to make them listen. He was conflicted about that—on the one hand, pleased that his mothers endeavours to ruin the lives of people like Mr. Graves were failing. But it was also frustrating to stand there and listen to someone treat them as if they were morons, when Credence knew his both his mother and Langdon happened to be right.

Langdon, too, seemed to sense that their efforts were failing. “The crazy disturbances in the subway—just look at the pictures!” He cried, obviously desperate. Credence sensed his interest in being taken seriously went beyond this one conversation. He wanted his father believe him about witchcraft, yes... but more than that, he just wanted his father to believe him. For a moment, Credence felt somewhat sorry for him.

As Langdon Shaw grew more frantic, his father seemed to grow calmer. “I’d like you and your friends to leave,” he said quietly.

Langdon's face was turning red. “No, you’re missing a trick here. Just look at the evidence—”

“Really,” Shaw Sr. mumbled, shaking his head.

The younger man in the room, who had until this point been quiet, stood up and joined the conversation. “Langdon. Just listen to Father and go.” He glanced over to them, and his eyes locked with Credence's. Credence looked away, embarrassed. “And take the freaks with you.”

Credence swallowed slightly, his hands balling up into fists. He didn't know who this man was, but in that moment he hated him.

Langdon glared furiously as his brother. “This is Father’s office, not yours, and I’m sick of this every time I walk in here...”

But Shaw Sr. seemed to have had enough of them. He waved his hand at them. “That's it, thank you...”

“We hope you’ll reconsider, Mr. Shaw.” Credence's mother said. Credence didn't understand how she could still sound so calm. “We’re not difficult to find. Until then, we thank you for your time.”

They turned and walked away, and Credence realized the entire newsroom had fallen silent and still, everyone eagerly listening in to their humiliation.

As Credence stepped away from the office, the younger man called after him. “Hey, boy. You dropped something.”

Credence turned and saw he'd dropped one of his mothers leaflets. The man crumpled it up, before reaching over and shoving it in to Credence's hand. There was a slight smile on his face as he did so. “Here you go, freak—why don’t you put that in the trash where you all belong.”

Credence stared at him, unable to think of a reply. His heart hammered in his chest, but he felt frozen. Beside him, Modesty took his hand, glaring at the man who had called Credence a freak. With a small tug she led him forwards.

 

***

 

Even after they left the Shaw building, Credence was unable to get the words of Langdon's brother out of his head. It wasn't simply _what_ Shaw had said, that was just the start of it—no, no it was the entire evening. The utter dismissal of them and what they had to say. Credence was used to indifference, he was accustomed to being met with disdain and annoyance... but never before had it felt so personal. When people walked by him on the street, uncaring and unconcerned, it was as if they did not even see him there. And he was fine with that. But tonight, with the Shaw's... they had looked and they had seen them, and they had found them grotesque to behold.

What was worse, is that Credence was worried it may all have been true. After all, what word would he use to describe himself if not “freak?” Something was not quite right with him, that much was clear. Between his lost time and unnatural inclinations, Credence couldn't think of a better word at all. Perhaps he really did belong in the trash.

For the next little while, Credence felt as if he were living somewhere outside of himself, floating high above the city and looking down at how small it all was. Himself, especially. He dimly saw himself tell his mother he was going to go hand out more leaflets, and then slowly made his way towards the address Mr. Graves had given him, for the Woolworth building. He stood across the street from the tall, lavish skyscraper and feebly offered his leaflets. He stared at the building, thinking not only of Mr. Graves inside, but of all them—all of the witches and wizards working in the building, living everyday of their life with magic. He wanted so desperately to be with them.

After a moment, he spotted Mr. Graves standing in front and his legs jerked forward, stepping into the street towards him without a thought. It was as if his body was moving automatically, all on its own while his brain was off somewhere else, completely unaware of its surroundings. He felt as if he were under a spell, but knew somehow that he was not. This was not magic, it was longing.

Graves ducked into a dark alley near the building and Credence followed him. As they met up in the alleyway, Graves moved in towards him, eyes sweeping over him.

“You’re upset,” He said, almost immediately. Was it that obvious? “It’s your mother again... Somebody’s said something—what did they say? Tell me.”

Credence hesitated. He didn't want to bore Mr. Graves with his whining. But he felt himself craving reassurance, comfort. Affection. “...Do you think I’m a freak?”

Graves was quick to answer. “No—I think you’re a very special young man,” He said softly. “Or I wouldn’t have asked you to help me, now would I?”

As Credence considered this, Graves reached out and touched his arm, and Credence shivered at the contact. He moved in towards him, craving more.

“Have you any news?

“I’m still looking. Mr. Graves,” Credence said. “If I knew whether it was a girl or boy—

“My vision showed only the child’s immense power.” Graves replied. Credence's heart sank. “He or she is no older than ten, and I saw this child in close proximity to your mother—she I saw so plainly.”

“That could be any one of hundreds,” Credence said. While it meant the world to him that Mr. Graves had asked him for his help, he was beginning to wonder if perhaps he wasn't cut out for this. How was he supposed to pick out a child, when that child could be anyone?

“There is something else.” Graves said, his voice softer now. “Something I haven’t told you... I saw you beside me, in New York.”

Credence's heart skipped a beat. Beside him... did that mean together? He had seen them together...

“You’re the one that gains this child’s trust,” Graves continued. “You are the key—I saw this. You want to join the wizarding world, I want those things too, Credence. I want them for you.”

Credence realized he was barely breathing. Join the wizarding world... if he could do that, they could be together... everything would be different. He would be different.

“So find the child. Find the child and we’ll all be free.”

Credence stared at him. “But, you said we couldn't—”

Graves smiled slightly. “It's all going to change, once you find the child. I can't explain how, not yet.”

“So... could you teach me how—how to do magic and—” Words could barely make their to Credence's mouth. This couldn't be real, couldn't be happening... it was all too good to be true.

Graves nodded. “I can teach you everything you need to know,” He promised.

Credence swallowed. “And then—”

“And then we can be together, you and I.” Graves finished. “No hiding, no pretending we're something we're not.” Graves put his hands on Credence's shoulders. “But first you must find the child.”

Credence nodded. He would do whatever it took.

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

As Credence walked home that night, he felt light. Not in the same strange, bodiless way he had before—this was different. Better. For the first time, he could see a light at the end of the tunnel.

Since he had learned of its existence, Credence had longed to be a part of the wizarding world.

It wasn't simply that he wanted to be with Mr. Graves—although of course, that _was_ a large part of it—but it was more than that, too. To have magic, to be able to do those wonderful and frightening things... everything would be different for him. _He_ would be different. No one would be able to say a word against him, to hurt him like they did. He would be able to defend himself, protect himself... people like Senator Shaw would be nothing to him. For the first time in his life, he would not be weak.

There was a smile on his face as he entered the church, going as quietly as he could. Chastity was in the kitchen, drying some plates and she looked up at him when he entered. The look on her face told him his absence had not gone unnoticed.

His mother was waiting for him, sitting on the stairs.

“Credence—where have you been?”

Credence went with the first excuse that entered his mind. “I was ... looking for a place for tomorrow’s meeting. There’s a corner on Thirty-Second that could—” Stepping forward, Credence caught sight of the look on his mothers face. He knew that nothing he said would make a difference. “I’m sorry, Ma. I didn’t realize it was so late.” He reached for belt and began unbuckling it, then placed it in his mothers outstretched hand.

 

***

  
Credence's dreams that night were troublesome. He dreamt of Senator Shaw, seeing his face floating in his mind and taunting him, calling him a freak. And he wanted to shout back that he was not, he was not a freak, but he had no words, and no mouth to speak with. Instead, he had claws. He took those claws and raked them across the Senators face, watching him disappear with every strike. Soon the Senator would be nothing, nothing at all.

Just like Credence.

 

***

 

The next day, Credence did his best to ignore the throbbing pain in his hand and continue his search for the child. Around mid day, while handing out his pamphlets he lost time again, although this time did not end up in the sewers. It had been afternoon, the last thing he remembered but when he snapped back to himself it was nearing dinner time. Credence raced back to the church as quickly as possible, and arrived just before the streams of children came in for the food.

When they began to file in, Credence tried to talk to some of them, find out a little bit about their lives and who they were. But there were so many, he'd barely had time to talk to four of them when his mother called him over to start cleaning. Modesty handed out new leaflets to them as they ate, singing a eerie little song she'd picked up, about catching and killing witches.

Graves words came back to him, suddenly.

_He or she is no older than ten, and I saw this child in close proximity to your mother—she I saw so plainly._

He looked at Modesty, still singing her strange song.

“—My momma, your momma, flying on a switch—”

_...she is no older than ten..._

“—My momma, your momma, witches never cry—”

... _this child in close proximity to your mother..._

“—My momma, your momma, witches gonna die!”

 

***

 

After dinner, Credence was sent out to put up flyers for his mothers next meeting. He started in the alley near their house, and as he pasted the flyers up he thought about Modesty. She certainly fit the description, younger than ten and close to their mother. Closer than any of the other children, that was definite. Could Modesty be the child they were looking for? The thought frightened Credence, filled him with a strange sort of dread. He didn't know why, but he didn't want it to be Modesty. This child, whoever they were, they were in danger. People were after them, and something awful was happening inside them.

Credence swallowed, feeling a tightness in his chest. His hand was throbbing horribly, and getting worse as he fumbled with the posters. This was all becoming too much for him. He wanted so badly to find this child, to be with Graves and join the wizarding world... but not if it meant Modesty was in danger.

A loud _cracking_ noise startled him, and suddenly Graves was in the alley with him. He stumbled backwards, shocked. Graves strode towards him.

“Credence. Have you found the child?”

Credence swallowed. “I can't.”

Graves' jaw tightened, and a look of annoyance flashed across his face. It was there for a moment, and then gone so quickly Credence wasn't even sure he'd really seen it.

Graves looked him over. “Show me.” He said.

Credence hesitated, unsure what he meant. But Graves stepped forward, and gently took his hand. He looked at it for a moment, and his expression grew soft.

“Shhhh. My boy, the sooner we find this child, the sooner you can put that pain in the past where it belongs.”

Softly, tenderly, Graves moved his thumb over Credence's wounds and before Credence's eyes they began to heal. He stared in awe, watching his flesh mend and feeling the pain ease. He hadn't known Graves could do that, cast magic without his wand. It was incredible. He wondered if one day he would be able to learn to do that as well.

Graves was quiet for a moment. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace, bearing a little triangle symbol on the end.

“I want you to have this, Credence. I would trust very few with it—” He moved in and put the charm around Credence's neck. “Very few,” he repeated softly, his breath hot on Credence's ear. Credence breathed in deeply, and wrinkled his nose. There was a strange smell about Graves, terrible and putrid. There was something familiar about it, as if Credence had smelt it before, but he could not place it.

Graves put his hands on Credence neck, holding him gently. Credence stopped caring about the smell. He only cared to have Mr. Graves so close.

“. . . But you—you’re different.”

Credence's heart bumped in his chest. He wanted to lean in and kiss him, but felt rooted to his spot, unable to move. The tone of Graves' voice was entrancing him, the way he sounded quiet and intimate. It reminded Credence of the night they'd spent in Graves' bedroom, speaking quietly about their lives. He wanted to tell Mr. Graves that it was the same for him, that he had never met another person like him. He wanted to tell him that he was his whole world.

“Now, when you find the child,” Graves continued, placing his hand on Credence's heart, over the pendant. “Touch this symbol and I will know, and I will come to you.” Graves leaned in, closer still. “Do this and you will be honoured among wizards. Forever.”

He pulled Credence into a firm embrace and Credence could not help but relax into his arms, feeling as if that was where he truly belonged. Despite the terrible smell and the overwhelming task he had been given... this was where he wanted to be.

Graves pulled back slowly, stroking Credence's neck. Credence shivered slightly, not wanting him to leave.

“The child is dying, Credence.” Graves said quietly. “Time is running out.”

Graves let go of him and turned away, and after a moment he vanished with another loud crack, just as quickly as he had appeared. Credence stared at the spot where he had been only moments ago, and wondered what on earth he was going to do.

 

***

 

When Credence returned home after finished putting up the flyers—much easier to accomplish with his hand healed—he went straight to Modesty's room. What he was looking for, he did not know. But if Modesty _was_ the child he was looking for, and she was dying... Credence needed to know. He needed to do whatever it took to save her.

He looked around the room for a few moments, poking around her dolls and toys. He opened a few drawers but found only clothing. What exactly was he hoping to find? A diary, perhaps, with a long and detailed account of how she turned into a giant monster sometimes and destroyed property? But Mr. Graves had said that whoever the child was, they would have no idea this was happening to them.

Feeling somewhat desperate, Credence searched every inch of Modesty's bedroom for something, _anything_ that would indicate to him if she was the child he was looking for.

Crouching on the floor, Credence looked underneath her bed and his heart missed a beat when he saw something that might finally be a clue. It was a small homemade wand, likely just a toy for Modesty to play with. She certainly had a rebellious side, so this could have been just her toying with what their mother said was forbidden... but maybe it was more than that? Maybe somewhere under everything Modesty knew that she had magic, and this was the sign he was looking for...

“Whatchoo doin’, Credence?”

Credence jumped slightly, hitting his head on the bed as he tried to pull himself out from underneath it. When Modesty saw the wand in his hand, her eyes grew wide with fear.

“Where’d you get this?” He asked, holding it out to her.

“Give it back, Credence. It’s just a toy!” Modesty hissed, sounding frightened.

Before Credence could tell her not to worry, that he would never tell their mother about it, the door burst open and Mary-Lou entered the room. Her eyes immediately went to the wand gripped in Credence's hand and anger flared in her eyes.

“What is this?” She hissed.

“I—” Credence was at a loss for words, not wanting to be punished but fearing for Modesty even more than himself. He said nothing, and allowed his mother to drag him out into the hallway.

“Take it off!” She demanded. Her face was turning red with anger and he knew this would be a lashing he remembered for the rest of his life. Modesty had come out onto the landing with them, but was cowering back against the wall. He wanted to tell her to go, did not want her watching this. It wasn't something a young girl should have to see.

His mother was turned away from him, looking out at the church below. She turned back and raised the wand she had taken from him up in front of her face, snapping it in two pieces. Behind him, Credence could hear Modesty whimper slightly. He began to remove his belt, his hand shaking and he passed it to his mother.

“Ma...” Credence pleaded, wishing for mercy all while knowing he would receive none. 

“I am not your ma!” Mary-Lou snapped. “Your mother was a wicked, unnatural woman!”

Credence blinked, feeling as if he'd been slapped.

Suddenly, Modesty stepped between them. “It was mine,” she said. Despite the way she drew herself up, Credence could hear the quiver of fear in her voice. His eyes went wide. What was she _doing?_

Mary-Lou looked down at her youngest daughter. “Modesty—”

  
Credence backed up against the wall, feeling himself shake all over. He couldn't let this happen, not to Modesty—to let himself be brutally beaten was one thing, but Modesty was small and kind. An innocent little girl, she didn't deserve, he couldn't let—

  
With a _crack_ the belt suddenly whipped itself out of Mary-Lou's hand, leaving an angry red cut on her palm. Mary-Lou's eyes went wide. “What is this?” She asked, her voice trembling. Credence couldn't tell if it was from anger or from fear. 

The shaking grew even worse and he sunk back against the wall, holding himself as tears streamed down his face. He felt as if he were being ripped apart, devoured from the inside out. He saw his mother go to retrieve the belt, but it jumped away from her. When she turned back to them, the last thing Credence saw was the look of absolute fear in her eyes, before everything turned to darkness.

***

_The screaming was unbearable now. Before it had been loud, so absolutely loud but now it was deafening. So many voices screaming, calling his name. He could hear them as if they were all around him, shouting that he must not let them know. Never let them know what you are, Credence. Keep it down, keep it hidden. Pretend you're one of them. Hide. Always, hide._  
But Credence could hide no longer. Freak, they had called him. But they had paid, paid a dear price. Worthless they had said he was and perhaps they were right. But the ones who had hurt him, the ones who had forced him to live in misery, agony—they were gone now. All of them gone, one by one.   
The darkness swam around him, destroying everything in his path. And soon, very soon, it would destroy him too. 

_***_

Chastity and his mother were dead. Modesty was gone, and the church was destroyed. Credence had blacked out, and when he had come to this was what he found. He cowered in the corner, shaking uncontrollably. Had Modesty done this? Did this confirm his fears? Was it Modesty all along? Or, perhaps... perhaps it was another. Perhaps it was—

Credence shut his eyes, and gripped the pendant in his hand tighter. He needed help, needed someone to turn to. The dead lay around him, his mother's eyes wide and staring, her face scarred horribly. Chastity was crushed under debris, Credence could see her legs sticking out from under the fallen beams. Still, unmoving. 

His head shot up as he heard movement, and sobbed even harder when he saw Graves approaching. His wand was out, and surveyed the scene with interest. He stopped to look over his mothers body, and for a moment Credence thought a smile flickered across his face, but it was gone when he turned to Credence. 

Moving down to his level, Graves placed his hand on the back of Credence's head. 

“The Obscurial—was here? Where did she go?”

Credence shook his head, feeling desperate. He couldn't speak, could barely comprehend what had happened. He wished Graves would hold him, comfort him. Caress him softly and tell him it was going to be alright. 

“Help me,” He pleaded. “Help me.”

“Credence, your other sister—” 

Credence was overtaken by a fresh well of tears, and Graves placed a hand on his neck, stroking him. “Please help me...” 

“Where’s your other sister, Credence? The little one? Where did she go?”

Credence could only gibber, feeling more lost and hopeless than he had ever remembered feeling. His mother and sister were dead, and somehow he knew... he knew it was his fault. Was it all his fault? He had lost time and woken up like this, surely there could only be one explanation...

“Please help me,” he repeated. 

Pain rocketed across Credence's face as Graves punched him. His mouth opened and his brain seemed to short-circuit for a moment, uncomprehending. 

“Your sister’s in grave danger. We need to find her,” Graves snapped. There was no concern in his voice, only annoyance. Credence had tested his last nerve. 

As Graves grabbed him, Credence could only stare. Then they were off, shooting through the darkness that Credence was coming to know all too well.

***

The strange, floating feeling was back. Credence was no longer himself, he was someone else high above all of it, watching the pathetic creature that was his body lumber down the street. Graves, the person who had held him close and kissed him so gently, was shaking him, demanding to know where Modesty had gone. Afraid of being hit once more, Credence mumbled an address. 

The distance between Credence's mind and his body grew greater as Graves took him to the place he had told him Modesty could be found. The walked up the stairs, and Graves looked around. Credence stopped on the landing, feeling dizzy and unreal. 

Graves was speaking to him, and Credence could dimly hear himself answering. He told him that they were in Modesty's old home. Modesty had been adopted from here, from a family of twelve. She missed her brothers and sisters, and sometimes came back here, looking for them. 

Graves was storming around, kicking open the doors and looking in each room. “Where is she?” He demanded. Credence told him he didn't know. 

Looking frustrated and annoyed, Graves turned away from him. “You’re a Squib, Credence. I could smell it off you the minute I met you.” 

Credence blinked. “What?” 

“You have magical ancestry, but no power.”

Credence frowned. “But you said you could teach me—”

“You’re unteachable. Your mother’s dead. That’s your reward. I'm done with you,” He said, disappearing into another room. 

Credence stood on the landing, feeling numb. All of his life, every moment of misery, agony... suffering. None of it compared to this feeling. Every lashing had been easy, every look of loathing and hatred from his mother, from strangers... he would have welcomed it again, to make this go away. This... this was...

... _If they'd caught you, they would have oblivated you... I was worried you'd forget everything...  
_

_...You've already been through so much, Credence... I won't be another source of pain for you... I want to give you something good...  
_

_...I promise, I will always protect you, Credence...  
_

_...I would trust very few with it. But you—you’re different...  
_

Every moment, every kiss. Every kind word, every comfort. It was a lie, it was all a lie. Graves had never wanted him, never cared for him. He had used him, hurt him... just like everyone else. He stared after Graves and felt himself begin to shake. 

Credence's movements were slow and dream like as he went to the other side of the house, wanting to put distance between him and Graves. With every step he took he began to shake harder, until it felt as if he were actually vibrating with anger. It felt as if something were trying to claw its way out of him, break through his skin and raze the world the ground.   
  
Through the anger and hate, the bitterness in his mouth, something in Credence's mind suddenly became very clear. The lost time, the waking up in the sewer, the destroyed church... Mother and Chastity, dead. The monster was not Modesty, it never had been.

Credence was the monster. Had he known it all along? In some way perhaps, but he had hidden from it. Feared it. 

Well, now it was Graves turn to be afraid. 

Credence looked at the wall in front of him and it crumbled before his eyes. Two more walls fell at his glance until he found himself staring across to Graves. Graves no longer looked annoyed, but instead Credence could see reverence on his face. Now he meant something to him. Now he cared. 

“Credence, I owe you an apology...”

Credence gritted his teeth, the shaking in his body growing painful. “I trusted you!” He spat. “I thought you were my _friend!_ ” The word tasted terrible in his mouth now. What a fool he'd been, all along. “I thought that you were different...”

The monster inside him was clawing at his chest and Credence felt his body contorting as it tried to contain it. But there was no need to push it down, not anymore.

“You can control it, Credence,” Mr. Graves cautioned. 

With great difficulty, Credence lifted his head and looked directly at the man he'd thought he'd loved. “But I don’t think I want to, Mr. Graves.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

_The shouting wind had stopped, and Credence could no longer hear the cries of the dead. Instead, the screaming had turned to laughter. His laughter. It was a terrible noise, somehow even worse than the screaming. It was an unnatural, joyless sound but it was the only one Credence could make. He laughed, and he knew this would be all for him.  
_

_Tonight was the end, but he was not afraid. In fact, he was glad for it. Let it end, let it all be over. Like Mary-Lou, like Chastity... like Senator Shaw. Yes, he had killed him too. In his dreams he had left his bed and struck down the man who had called him a freak. He had been blind to the signs, too afraid to realize the truth of what he was.  
_

_The darkness swam all around, terrifying and destructive. But Credence knew now that he was not inside the darkness, and the darkness was not around him.  
_

_Credence was the darkness itself.  
_

_Around him the city was crashing, burning, people running in fear. It would have bothered him, but he was too busy laughing. Let it burn, he laughed. Let it all burn.  
_

_Somewhere far away someone was calling to him, spewing more lies from his snakes tongue. Credence lashed out at him and forced him away, forced them all back.  
_

_How he moved and where he went his did not know. Something beyond him was in control now, something dark and terrible that he had tried to hard to hide. People came towards him, wizards and police—small, insignificant. He lashed out, struck them down and laughed even as he wanted to cry._  
A surge of pain came over him and he felt himself shrink, felt himself coming back to his own mind. The laughter stopped, and the crying began.

Slowly, Credence found himself taking shape again. The darkness put itself back into the form of a man, and Credence stepped down into the subway, barely looking or thinking where he was going. Credence collapsed back against a wall, shaking as tears streamed down his face. This is what had been happening, in every instance where he'd lost time. He'd been destroying things, hurting people. He could hear screams and shouts from all around and he knew it was his fault, but he was so tired...

_Darkness emerged once more, moving slowly in the tunnels. Despite the formless shape, Credence felt more himself than he had before. He could think, he could feel... and he knew he was reaching the end now. There was little fight left in him, as if his rampage through the city had burned him out. Graves had told him so many lies, but the one thing Credence knew to be true was that he was dying. Living as darkness was going to kill him. Tonight, he thought. That was fine. After all the pain he had caused, it was what he deserved.  
_

_Somewhere below, someone spoke Credence's name. A young man, freckled and funny looking. His voice was soft, gentle.  
_

“I’m here to help you, Credence. I’m not here to hurt you.”

_Credence listened.  
_

“I’ve met someone just like you, Credence. A girl—a young girl who’d been imprisoned, she had been locked away and she’d been punished for her magic.”

_Another like him? Curiosity gripped him and the darkness began to drift away once more.  
_

Credence took shape, huddling on the train tracks. He was wary of the man in front of him, but a part of him wanted to believe he was there to help.

The man crouched to Credence's level. “Credence, can I come over to you? Can I come over?” He asked. Credence bowed his head slightly, and the man went to move forward, but a sudden blast of light hit him from behind and knocked him away.

Graves strode into view and the very sight of him felt like a fist clenching his heart. What hurt worst of all was that when he felt pain like this, his first thought was to turn to Mr. Graves. But it was Graves who had caused this tremendous pain... and there was nowhere to turn now.

Picking himself up as quickly as he could, Credence made his way down the train tracks. He could hear Graves and the man fighting behind him but knew there would be nothing he could do to help.  
A rumbling in the distance caused Credence to freeze. Light flooded the tunnel as a train came speeding towards him and there was no time to get out of the way, to make a move or even form an entire thought.

Suddenly Credence found himself flung through the air, pulled back and away from the train. Graves had saved him, and somehow it felt worse than if he had let the train crush him. It wasn't Credence he had tried to save, it wasn't Credence he was fighting to get to. It was this _thing,_ this monster inside of him that he wanted, although Credence did not know why.

He was struggling down the tracks again when the shaking started. He could hear them in the distance, fighting, the man trying to help him clearly losing. He could hear him screaming, and the noise was like agony. He stopped again as the shaking took over, and Credence was gone once more, taken by the darkness.

_They were going to regret this, regret hurting him. He would take them all with him, every last one of them. Who they were, what they wanted, none of it mattered. He would smash and destroy it all, just as they had destroyed him. He screamed, a terrible and inhuman noise and dove at them, tearing up anything in his path. Tear it all down, make it ash make it dust. Make it nothing, just like him.  
_ _They would all—_

_A voice sounded, somewhere far away. It called his name, and it sounded scared. His mother? Not Mary-Lou, she had never sounded so concerned... his real mother? No, it couldn't be. She was dead. Long dead.  
_

_Ms. Goldstein was calling his name. Calling for him to stop, to not do this. And even through the terrible darkness, Credence could hear her. He wanted to reach out to her, to let her protect him as she had before.  
_

He's using you, _She told him, pointing to Graves, and Credence knew her to be speaking the truth. Graves tried to deny, said he only wanted Credence to be free but Credence could hear the lies now, and thought himself a fool for believing them before. Credence felt himself shrinking, slowly, and knew soon he would be himself again—  
_

_People rushed into the subway—wizards and witches, their wands drawn and pointed at Credence. Ms. Goldstein tried to warn them away, but it was too late.  
_

_Pain, so much pain. A thousand knives were piercing him—not his body, that was gone—it was piercing his mind, his soul. A screeching, grinding pain grew within.  
_

_Credence drew a breath—a final breath—and in his last moment, felt no pain.  
_

_Soon he would see his mother again, and finally, he would know peace.  
_

_His very last thought was that he only wished Ms. Goldstein didn't look quite so sad.  
_

_Exploding in a shower of stars and darkness, Credence Barebone thought no more._

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so next chapter we are moving beyond the movie! Just to assure you, Credence is definitely not dead. He just thinks he is.


	11. Chapter 11

Life was slow to return. At first, Credence could not open his eyes. He knew wherever he was, he was very warm. Not warm like the fires of hell, though, which was somewhat of a surprise. It was more of a gentle warmth, and there was the smell of baked goods in the air. Perhaps... heaven, then? Surely that had to be a mistake, but he couldn't think of another explanation.

Credence could hear whispers all around him, and a very soft hand against his face. Angels, he supposed.

That was nice, Credence thought, as he drifted back to sleep. And funny the angels sounded just like Ms. Goldstein...

***

As Credence slept, dreams took him. Mr. Graves was there, in his dreams, but not as he had revealed himself to be at the end. In his dreams, there was no ugliness, no lies and abuse. In his dreams, Mr. Graves remained kind and caring. He took Credence in his arms and told him he was sorry, so terribly sorry about everything that had happened. And Credence knew, quite suddenly, that it had not been him. None of it had been him. It had been an imposter, a faker with the face of Mr. Graves. He had stolen Graves' identity, and locked the _real_ Mr. Graves up in a sewer.

And in his dreams, Credence sobbed. Not from sadness, but from joy. Mr. Graves, _his_ Mr. Graves could never have hurt him like that imposter had and he was so glad to find out the truth. Finally, they could be together, and everything would be as it should be....

  
***

Credence was not sure how long it was before he was able to open his eyes, but when he did he was somewhat surprised to find that heaven looked an awful like an apartment in New York. He could even hear the cars and people out on the street.

“Teen, Teen he's awake!” Someone called, sounding excited. He wondered who had woken up, that she was so pleased about. A very pretty blonde woman popped into view, staring excitedly at Credence. A moment later, she was joined by Ms. Goldstein.

“Credence,” she said, stepping towards him. She looked worried. “How are you feeling?”

Credence stared at her, wondering what was happening. “I'm not... I'm not dead?” He asked quietly. His voice was strained, and talking felt difficult. “I'm not dead...”

Ms. Goldstein shook her head. “We thought you were, Newt and I... all of us. We all thought the Aurors killed you.”

Credence wondered who Newt was.

“He's Tina's new _beau,_ ” The blonde woman told him, as if in response to an unasked question. “British, freckled face, kinda awkward but in a cute way.”

The man from the subway, Credence remembered. He had tried to help.

“That's the one,” She replied.

Blinking, Credence stared at her.

Ms. Goldstein sighed. “Don't mind Queenie, she's a legilimens. Like a mind reader.”

Queenie smiled. “I'm also her sister, in case you was wondering,”

“You know he was,” She replied. Queenie smiled. Ms. Goldstein turned her attention back to Credence. “Are you hungry? You must be hungry, you haven't eaten in at least three days.”

“Three days?” Credence asked. Had he been asleep for that long?

“We found you a little while after Newt left. I was looking around the subway, for—well, I don't really know what I was looking for. But I found you. That was three days ago. I wanted to take you to Hubble's, but we worried that they might ask questions...”

“Hubble's is a hospital. 'The Mildred Hubble Institute For Abnormal Afflictions,'” Queenie explained. “And if they found out who you were... it wouldn't have been so good.”

“Right...” Credence nodded. Because he'd turned into a monster, and rampaged through the city. Because he'd killed people.

A empty, cold feeling began to bloom in Credence's chest. He saw his mother, the senator, lying dead on the floor, their faces horribly scarred and deformed. And Chastity... he'd never meant to hurt her. She hadn't been perfect, but she'd been his family. She hadn't deserved—he hadn't meant—

“I should be dead,” Credence whispered. “It's what I deserve.”

“Credence, don't say that—” Ms. Goldstein cried, putting her hand on his shoulder. There was a pained look on her face, as though it had actually hurt her to hear him say that. He wondered why she cared so much about someone like him. “Nothing that happened was your fault. You weren't in control, it wasn't you.”

Credence swallowed. “It... it was me. Some part of it... it was _me._ It—I killed Senator Shaw, after he was cruel to me. I killed my mother, when she was going to hurt Modesty. And then at the end... I wanted everyone to suffer. Everyone to hurt, just like I did. So I let it do what it wanted. I let it destroy everything. It's my fault, all of it.”

Tears were rolling down his cheeks now, and he made no move to stifle them. He didn't deserve to be looked after like this, or cared for. He was a monster, and everyone would be better off if those wizards had succeeded in killing him.

“No!” Queenie responded, reacting to his thoughts. “Credence, that ain't true! Don't think like that.”

Ms. Goldstein glanced towards her sister. “Queenie, he doesn't need you to keep reading his thoughts...” 

“Sorry, Teenie, I can't help it,” Queenie replied. “It's like he's shouting 'em at me.”

“Why don't you go make him some soup?” She suggested. “He hasn't eaten, and if he's going to get his strength back then he needs to. We can talk about this later. For now, Credence should rest.”

Queenie nodded, and fixed her pretty face into a smile. “Sure thing. Hey, you like matzo balls?” She asked. Credence didn't know. “Oh, you will.” She said, before bouncing out of the room.

Queenie wasn't gone long, and when she came she had a large, steaming bowl of chicken soup with her. Credence discovered that matzo balls were a fluffy sort of dumpling thing, and they were delicious. The soup itself was also incredible, and Credence couldn't help but wonder that if _this_ was chicken soup, what sort of watery, weak concoction had his mother been feeding him all these years? It certainly didn't compare to this.

After his meal, Credence's eyes began to grow heavy once more, and Queenie and Ms. Goldstein quietly left the room as he fell asleep once more.

***

It was dark when Credence awoke once more. He stared at the ceiling, feeling empty inside. He had dreamed, again, of Mr. Graves. He had been happy, in his dreams. Just happy to be with Graves, to be able to look at him and breath in his scent. To be able to hear his voice and feel his arms around him, safe and secure. But he was awake now, and knew it was all a lie. Graves had never cared for him like he'd said he had. He had only wanted to use him, manipulate him. Hurt him. He wanted the thing inside of him, the terrible darkness that Credence could still feel, even then. It had grown smaller, weakened... but it was there, lurking in his mind. Credence wondered if it always would be.

There was a knock on the door, and Queenie poked her head in. “You awake?”

Credence nodded, although he wasn't sure she could see him. Too tired to speak, he thought _yes.  
_

Queenie smiled, and opened the door wider. “I thought so. I could hear you thinking from my room—” Credence must have looked alarmed at this, because she quickly added. “I didn't hear nothing specific, just a general sort of sadness coming from here. Don't worry.”

Credence nodded again, and Queenie stepped into the room and took a seat on the edge of his bed. “You feel like talking at all?” She asked quietly. “Sometimes talking about things that aren't so great... sometimes it helps, y'know.” She smiled.

Credence looked away. He appreciated that she wanted to help, but talking wouldn't undo what he'd done. He doubted even wizards had a way to bring people back from the dead.

“You gotta understand, this thing inside of you... you didn't make it, Credence,” Queenie said softly. “It's like... it's like if you took every bad thought you ever had and bundled them all up, then set them loose. It's not your fault.”

“I still...” Credence's words stuck in his throat. “I still thought those things. I still _wanted_ to hurt them. Not Chastity, but my mother and the Senator... I wanted them to pay.”

“Credence, everyone has thoughts like that. Everyone thinks bad things sometimes, things that if you could hear them... it would make you think there was no good in the world. Trust me, I know.” She looked at him, her face slightly shadowy. “But it's the thoughts people act on, the way they _choose_ to live that make 'em who they are. Not the bad thoughts they can't help. And the only difference between you and everyone else is that your choice was taken away. Your bad thoughts took on a life of their own, and busted out and hurt people. But that's not _you,_ and it wasn't your fault.”

Credence could feel himself on the verge of tears once more. He wondered if Queenie really meant that.

Queenie nodded. “'Course I do.” She smiled. “Wouldn't say it if I didn't.”

He smiled slightly back at her, wishing he could believe her. Somehow, he knew he couldn't. The smile slipped slowly from Queenie's face. She knew.

“Boy, I could use a drink,” She said, laughing feebly. “Teen usually likes to keep a bottle of Esk's around, for emergencies... not that that's strong enough, but it's probably all we got,”

Credence wondered if she meant _Eskarina's Pearwood Wine,_ the stuff Graves had bought for him, the night they'd decided to be together... the memory hurt to recall, it was so vivid it felt almost painful.

Quite suddenly, Queenie jumped to her feet, her eyes wide and staring at Credence. His face coloured red when he realized what she obviously now knew.

“Oh my, you and—” Queenie brushed her hair off her face. “Credence, you—” If possible, her eyes grew even wider. “Oh my god, you _don't know!_ ” Before

Credence could make a noise, she ran out of the room. Credence heard her calling for her sister.

“Teenie, Tina—Graves—” He could hear her shouting. “ _He doesn't know!_ ”

What didn't he know, Credence wondered. Was Graves dead? Credence hated that the thought still made him sad. Even after all he did, the man still had power over him.

 _“What?!”_ He heard Ms. Goldstein shout. _“You're kidding—”  
_

A moment later, both sisters shuffled into Credence's room. Ms. Goldstein was slightly red faced. She took a seat on the edge of Credence's bed.

“Credence,” She said, in a voice that was clearly trying very hard to resemble calm. “Queenie tells me that you and Mr. Graves were... together,” She said slowly. She paused, and seemed to be waiting for his response. He stared at her, and said nothing. Seeming to take this as confirmation, she continued. “Well, there's something I have to tell you, about... about Mr. Graves.”

Credence looked away. “You don't need to tell me,” he said quietly. “I already know. He's not... he's not who I thought he was.”

Ms. Goldstein frowned, and looked to her sister. “You said he didn't—”

“He doesn't!” Queenie exclaimed. “He means _Graves_ wasn't a good guy, like he thought. _He still doesn't know!_ ”

“What don't I know?” Credence asked, feeling somewhat anxious now.

Ms. Goldstein sighed again. “That isn't what I meant... what I mean is, Mr. Graves, for the last... well, we're not sure exactly how long. A week, we believe, at most. So for the last week, when you say Graves wasn't who you thought he was... well, that's true. He wasn't who _any_ of us thought he was.” She paused. “Because he wasn't Percival Graves.”

A frown spread across Credence's face. “What?”

Ms. Goldstein glanced at her sister, then back to Credence. “Do you know who Gellert Grindelwald is?” She asked. Credence shook his head. “He's a dark wizard. _The_ dark wizard, actually. We've never seen anyone like him before. He's powerful, and he's gaining followers all over the world... they believe that wizards are superior to no-majs, and that these laws we have to keep ourselves hidden are wrong. That they should be the ones hiding from us.”

“I don't—what does this have to do with Mr. Graves?”

“Credence, the man Newt was fighting in the subway... the man who tried to use you, and hurt you... that was Grindelwald, not Graves.”

Credence stared at her, and wondered if he was dreaming. It certainly made sense that this was a dream, and it wouldn't be the first where he'd invented the idea that the man who'd hurt him was different from the man who'd claimed to love him.

 _“Ouch!”_ Credence cried out, as Queenie leaned over and pinched him on the arm. He rubbed the sore spot, and stared at Queenie, who raised her eyebrows. Credence got the message: this was not a dream.

“You mean to say...” Credence began slowly. “That someone stole Mr. Graves' identity? Made themselves look like him?” Ms. Goldstein nodded. “How? That's... how could you do that?”

“There's a few ways...” Ms. Goldstein explained. “The most common would be Polyjuice potion, but that's not what Grindelwald did. He used transfiguration to make himself look like Graves... the most advanced transfiguration I've ever seen.”

“But he didn't... he didn't just _look_ like Graves. He talked like him, and acted like him... he knew about me, he knew what we had. He used that.”  
Credence said.

Queenie nodded. “Tina's still working on that part. They think he did something to Graves, the real one. Stole his memories or something.”

“Graves didn't just fool you, Credence,” Ms. Goldstein explained. “He fooled us all, all of Macusa. Some of them have known him for _years,_ and no one saw it. I'm working on a theory... there's a spell I've heard of, called _Ligomentis..._ it connects two minds together, let's them share thoughts and memories, even see what the other sees. If Grindelwald used it, I believe there's a chance he could have kept Graves alive—” Ms. Goldstein's eyes went wide, and Queenie smacked her lightly on the arm.

Credence stared at her, his head spinning. Graves... _his_ Graves. The real Graves. It hadn't been him. None of it, at the end... it had been a fake, an imposter. Just like in his dream. It hadn't all been a lie then. The moments they'd shared, the connection... it had been real. His Graves had been real.

And now, he could very well be dead.  


	12. Chapter 12

The next day, Queenie and Ms. Goldstein allowed Credence to leave his bed, and take a meal at the table. They had given him some potion that smelled like mould, and tasted even worse but had seemed to give him a large portion of his strength back. 

While they ate, Credence fidgeted in his seat. Queenie's food continued to be the most wonderful thing Credence has ever tasted, but he had something on his mind. It was all he'd been able to think about since he had learned the truth. 

As Ms. Goldstein waved her wand, sending the dishes to the sink where they began clean themselves all on their own, Queenie let out a long sigh. 

“Just go ahead and ask, honey,” She said, rubbing her temples. “I can't take all this shouting.”

Credence's face flushed slightly. “Sorry,” He murmured. “But... it's just... _where_ could he be?” He asked, not for the first time. 

“Well, that's the thing, Credence.” Ms. Goldstein replied. “Grindlewald could have been keeping him anywhere.”

“Isn't there something you can do to find him? A spell or something?” 

“They've tried,” Queenie answered. “At Macusa, they've tried everything they could think of. But when you don't know where to look, or where to focus a spell...” She looked grim. 

Ms. Goldstein turned to Credence. “Credence, I know Mr. Graves meant a lot to you—”

_“Means_ a lot, _”_ Credence corrected. 

“I know he means a lot to you,” She amended. “But unless there's anything you can think of, that Grindlewald might have said, or something he might have done... then you'll just have to wait for us to do our jobs.” 

Credence nodded. “Alright,” He said slowly. 

After dessert, Credence retired to the room he'd been allowed to stay in, and thought about the man who had not been Mr. Graves. Had he said anything to him, anything at all that might indicate to him where the _real_ Graves might be hidden? Credence didn't think so. If the man had let slip something along the lines of “ _must be off, Credence, I have to attend to the person whose life and face I've stolen,”_ Credence thought he would've remembered that. Moreover, he probably would have thought something was just a bit strange about that.   
But there was nothing. The man had looked like Graves, spoken like Graves and even smelled—

Credence froze. _The smell._ He _hadn't_ smelled like Graves, at least not in one instance. Credence remembered—it had been a faint, putrid aroma... and familiar. At the time, he had thought there was something familiar about it. Why? What about that scent had been familiar to him?  
He racked his brain, trying to remember all the terrible things he had smelled in his lifetime—the garbage, some of the children who came through their home, rotten and mouldy food... 

But none of it was right. 

A sense of hopelessness overcame him, and Credence felt himself begin to shake. Graves was out there somewhere, likely in pain and possibly _dying_ and Credence couldn't do a thing about it. This was all his fault. If he hadn't had this _monster_ inside of him, then none of this would have happened. Graves would be safe, Chastity would be alive, and Modesty wouldn't be on her own, having lost her second family.   
Credence put his head in his hands, wishing he could break down in tears but feeling none come. Instead a feeling darkness and emptiness grew in his chest, one he didn't recognize until—

_“Credence!”  
_

Ms. Goldstein came running into the room, followed by Queenie. They both looked terrified. “Credence, you have to stay calm!” Ms. Goldstein cautioned, approaching him slowly. Credence looked at her, fearful. “You're making the house shake.”

Credence had not even been aware that it was happening, but as soon as Ms. Goldstein mentioned it, the room around him went still. His own shoulders continued to shake, and the darkness in his chest did not ebb away. 

Ms. Goldstein slowly put her arm over him, and her voice softened. “It's alright, Credence.” She said quietly. “We'll figure this all out, I promise. Just please, stay calm.” 

“I can't control it,” He whispered. “What if it happens again... if I turn into that... _thing._ ” He looked up at Ms. Goldstein, and saw the truth written on her face. If he lost himself again, he would not survive. 

“We'll figure it out,” She promised again, though Credence could hear the doubt in her voice. “I wrote to Newt, he's dealt with Obscurial before, tried to save one them...” She trailed off, glancing away. Credence supposed that meant that though Newt had _tried_ to save one, he had not been successful. “I'm hoping he'll be able to help.”

Credence nodded. “He said something about that, in the subway. That he'd met someone like me before...” 

Ms. Goldstein nodded. “In the meantime, we should try and keep stressors to a minimum,” she said. 

Queenie snorted, and her sister glared at her. “Sorry, Teen, it's just... if you knew how stressed he was, you'd realize what a silly thing you just said.”

Ms. Goldstein sighed. “Well, is there anything we can help with? Obviously we have everyone at Macusa tring to find Graves, but is there anything else?”

Credence frowned. “Actually...”

***

When he'd mentioned his problem to Ms. Goldstein and Queenie, he'd expected they were going to use magic to deal with it, and was somewhat disappointed when Ms. Goldstein picked up the telephone and placed a call to the orphanage. Apparently Modesty had been there for a few days now, presumably having gone there on her own, after Credence had destroyed both her family and her homes.   
Ms. Goldstein apparated him to an alleyway nearby, stressing that Credence should meet her back at that spot the moment he felt overwhelmed, or light headed. 

Modesty was playing hopscotch outside when he walked up, and at the sight of him, turned and ran inside. 

“Modesty, wait—!” Credence called, running after her. Before he could catch her, the door was slammed in his face. He faltered on the step, and wondered if perhaps they would both just be better off if he walked away. But Modesty was his sister, and he couldn't leave without at least knowing she was alright. 

It took several minutes of knocking before someone came and answered the door. Finally it opened to reveal a very tired looking middle-aged woman, who gazed at Credence with dark eyes.

“Yeah?” She enquired. 

“Um...” Credence glanced at his shoes. It seemed silly, that even after all he'd gone through that he could still be so easily intimated by strangers. But here he was, feeling his words stick in his throat and his palms begin to sweat. “Modesty... is Modesty...” 

The woman sighed deeply. “Modesty!” She called into the house. “Com'ere, please!”

Behind the woman, Credence saw Modesty's face peak out from behind a wall. She shook her head.

The woman turned back to him. “Modesty don't wanna talk to ya.” 

Credence felt his face begin to flush. “Please...” He mumbled. 

The woman ran her fingers through her hair. “Sorry, kid. House rules. Kids don't gotta talk to anyone they don't wanna.”

Before he could open his mouth to feebly protest, the door was once again closed in his face. Credence stared at the peeling wood for a moment and his shoulders slumped. He turned away, and walked slowly off the lawn. 

Behind him, Credence heard the sound of the door opening once more. He turned around and found Modesty stepping cautiously out. His heart leapt and he made to move towards her, but she backed away, clearly wanting to keep her distance. It hurt, but Credence could not blame her. 

“What do you want?” She asked quietly. 

“I... I just wanted to see you,” Credence said. “To make sure you were alright.”

Modesty glared. “Yeah, I'm _fine,_ ” she replied. “Watching my brother turn into a giant cloud of smoke and kill my Mama and sister didn't bother me at all. Now I have to live in a crummy old orphanage _again,_ and wait for _another_ messed up family to take me in.” 

“Modesty, I never meant—”

“Oh, also everyone here thinks I'm _crazy_ because I told Missy Seawod the _truth_ about what happened to my family and she told everyone else! And I was _alread_ y 'Modesty the Weirdo' 'cause of everyone knew I was from the witch-hunting family...” She shook her head, and kicked a rock. “Buncha sinners... stupid Missy...”

“Modesty, I'm so sorry,” Credence sputtered, stepping towards her again. Once more, she stepped back towards the door behind her. “I never meant to hurt Chastity—”

“But you meant to hurt Mama?!” She cried. 

Credence looked down at his shoes. “...I think some part of me did, yes...”

Silence followed this confession. He looked back up at her and saw her eyes were full of tears. “You promised me you were gonna try and do better, Credence,” She said. “I knew you were lying. It's all you do! You lied to Mama about where you were all the time, you lied to _me_ about that day when you smelled like garbage but I helped you _anyways_ 'cause you promised you would do better!”

“Modesty, I—” Credence froze. _The day you smelled like garbage._ But he hadn't smelled like garbage, had he? He'd smelled like the sewers, where he'd woken up. He could remember the smell so clearly, as if he was back there at that moment. 

That's what the man who wasn't Mr. Graves had smelled like. He'd smelled like the sewer. 

Modesty stared at him. “What?” 

Credence shook his head, his heartbeat racing. “Nothing, I just—I realized something.”

“Is that your soul's gonna spend eternity in hell?” Modesty asked. “'Cause it is.”

The excitement he'd felt a moment ago faded, and in it's place was a terrible sadness. Modesty was right. He had failed her, when he had promised to do better. He had destroyed her family, and left her alone in the world. He had no business bothering her further. 

“I've known that for a while...” He said quietly. “I'll go, I'm sorry,”

He put his hands in his pocket and turned away. 

“Credence, wait—” Modesty called. 

He turned around, and saw she'd taken a step towards him. 

“I didn't—I didn't mean that, really,” She said, sounding remorseful. “I just... you scared me. And seeing Chastity and Mama like that...” She hugged her arms around herself and looked down. “They weren't perfect... especially Mama... but they were all I had.” 

Credence nodded. “Me too,” he said quietly. “I wish I could take it back.” 

Modesty peered at him. “Are you still...” She trailed off. 

“A monster?” He finished. She nodded. “I... I'm trying not to be. It's hard,” he said. 

Modesty nodded once more. “When you figure it out... it'd be okay if you came to get me, I guess,” she said. “I don't forgive you, not yet... but you're all I got now.” 

A sad smile touched Credence's lips. “Okay, Modesty. When I figure it out, I'll come straight here.”

Modesty looked at him a second longer, then turned and ran back into the orphanage. Credence stayed where he was for a moment, and then walked off to where Ms. Goldstein was waiting for him.

***

The moment they apparated back into the apartment, Credence told Ms. Goldstein and Queenie what he'd remembered. 

“The sewers?” Queenie repeated, frowning. “Why would Grindlewald be using the sewers?”

“Well, the sewers are fairly secluded, for one,” Ms. Goldstein mused. “No chance of running into anyone down there, save for maybe a maintenance worker.”

“Do you think he could have been hiding Mr. Graves down there?” Credence asked, heart pounding once more. 

“It's possible, I'll certainly look into it,” She replied. “But I wouldn't get your hopes up, it's probably nothing.”

Credence, who'd been hoping for a more enthusiastic reaction, tried his best to keep his dashed hopes to himself. He'd felt so sure, somehow, that this was the clue they'd been looking for. The thing that would lead them to Mr. Graves—the real Mr. Graves. His Mr. Graves.   
But as the day continued and he thought on it some more, the less it seemed so. Why would an evil and seemingly all powerful wizard be using something as common as the sewers to hide someone? Surely someone as powerful as everyone said Grindlewald was could just conjure a hiding spot from thin air. Even Credence, who had often been told he had a mind as dull as spoon, could think of about a hundred different magical places to hide someone, all better than the sewers. 

After visiting Modesty, Credence assisted Queenie with the grocery shopping. He was surprised to find that instead of appararting to some secluded shop hidden where no-majs couldn't find it, they simply walked to the market. 

“You really shop here?” Credence asked, looking around at the market place, which looked very similar to the same one he'd gone to with his mother and sisters. This one was nicer looking, and the prices were much higher, but the over-all look and feel of it was very similar. “You don't have... another place you go?”

Queenie smiled. “You mean a _magic_ place?” she asked. Credence nodded. “Yeah, we got one of those. Although you can get a lot more than groceries there.” 

Credence waited for her to continue, but she said nothing more. “Why aren't we going there, then?” He prodded. 

Queenie was silent for a moment. “Teenie thinks it's best if we keep you out of the wizarding world, for a while. At least until all this obscurus stuff settles down.”

“Oh,” Credence mumbled, casting his eyes down. “Right.” 

“I mean, I think it's all for nothing, her being so paranoid,” Queenie went on. “No one's gonna recognize you, not to mention they all think you're, well... y'know, dead. It's just—” She glanced at him. “You never know, y'know?” 

Credence nodded. 

They shopped in relative silence. Well, Credence was relatively silent and Queenie chatted away idly as they made their way around the market, occasionally answering questions he hadn't asked aloud. It started off as a bit irksome, but by the end of the trip Credence had found a strange appreciation for Queenie's gift; it allowed them to carry on a conversation, without Credence having to utter a word.   
When Credence had accompanied his mother to the market, it had always been to buy the bare bone essentials of what they absolutely needed to keep themselves and the children who visited them alive. They shrewdly gazed at the price of everything they picked up and weighed each item precisely before deciding to purchase it. Credence hadn't even realized there was another way to go about shopping, until he went to the market with Queenie. 

She grabbed everything that caught her eye, didn't bother checking the prices on most things and got doubles of everything. She made comments like “Oh, wonder what I can make with _this_ ” as she added something to their cart, and Credence got the impression she really didn't _need_ most of the items she picked up. Once, she even put a large portion of a strange fruit Credence had never seen before into their cart, and when Credence asked her what it was she simply shrugged and said “Don't know, but it's _pink._ ”

Queenie also had a funny habit of adding anything to the cart that she caught Credence staring at, or thinking that he wanted.   
By the time they were done they had compiled so much groceries that Credence had no idea how they were going to get them back to her apartment. But Queenie just smiled and leaned in close to the groceries, mumbled something Credence couldn't here and suddenly each bag was as light as a feather. Lifting four bags all on his own was as easy as lifting a pillow. 

As they walked back to the apartment, Queenie began telling him about magic wands. “—Now Tina, she's old fashioned. Got her wand from Quintana, and can never get enough of telling me about how _elegant_ and _sturdy_ it is. _Reliable,_ she calls it. And I mean, reliable is great right? But it's _magic!_ Shouldn't that have a little _glamour_ to it?” 

Credence shrugged. Elegant and reliable sounded fine to him. 

“Of course it should!” Queenie went on. “Now, Johannes Jonker, that's a man that understands wands—” 

They snuck quietly back into the apartment—apparently their landlady was quite strict about there being _men_ on the premises—and began putting the groceries away. Queenie continued to talk about the benefits of a Jonker's wand, and Credence listened quietly and thought about what kind of wand _he_ might want. 

As Credence began to load the many different types of fruit Queenie had chosen into the refrigerator, there was a loud cracking noise, and Credence turned to find Ms. Goldstein striding towards him, her hair flyaway and her eyes wide. 

“What's—”

“Credence,” She said. “They found him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone else who saw the obscurus forgot everything about it and magic when Frank obliviated them. Why didn't Modesty? Well, I don't really know. I would say “she was inside when it happened and the rain didn't get to her,” but in the movie we see the rain affecting the people inside too so honestly I have no idea. It didn't really make sense in the movie either, so I'm just going to ignore that.
> 
>  
> 
>  


	13. Chapter 13

The waiting room in The Mildred Hubble Institute For Abnormal Afflictions was a large space with grey brick walls, full of rows of very uncomfortable chairs that were mostly occupied by people that looked just as worried and an anxious and Credence felt. Like Credence, several of them had taken to pacing around the room, occasionally knocking on the glass of closed off space where Credence supposed whatever counted as a nurse in the wizarding world was sitting, and demanding information on their loved one. And just as Credence had been, each of them was told that they must simply wait.

Credence wished they would stop knocking on the glass, as every time someone did the noise drew his attention, and he caught his reflection in the glass, causing his stomach to turn strangely.

To be perfectly honest, Credence had never much cared for his own reflection. He had an odd, pale face and the haircut his mother insisted on giving him only exacerbated the oddity. He didn't like his clothes, and he didn't like the way he carried himself.

But now... now it was even stranger to look at himself, due to the disguise Queenie had given him. The disguise involved several complicated spells, which Queenie called "glamours." The glamours had lengthened his hair so that it came down to his jaw. It had caused hairs to sprout on his chin, and changed the colour of his eyes to a bright green. Queenie had then dressed him up in glasses and a strange purple suit which she said she'd been fixing for someone at her work.

So now when he caught sight of himself, it wasn't the funny looking gawky boy he'd hated to look at staring back at him—but instead a stranger, someone he didn't know at all.

This was, of course, the point of the disguise. He couldn't very well go out into the wizarding world looking like the person known for destroying several city blocks, injuring countless people and even killing some, not to mention almost exposing everyone to the no-majs.

As someone once again tapped on the glass, trying to get the attention of the very tired looking witch behind it, Credence found himself staring at the person who was not him. It wasn't that the disguise looked bad—Credence actually liked the hairstyle quite a bit—it was simply that he didn't know who this person was. He looked, he supposed, like a wizard. The thought frightened and excited him at the same time. Somehow he felt as if instead of staring at himself in disguise, he was staring through to another world, at a different version of himself. One where he was powerful, instead of weak. Where he was confident... where he was happy. A world very much unlike this one. 

"Family of Percival Graves?" The witch behind the glass called, her voice somehow projected around the room.

Credence rushed over to the window, and was followed by Queenie and Ms. Goldstein.

"You can see him now," she said, quietly now. "Through the door, to your left and down the hall. Room at the end."

Credence nodded, and took off through the doors she had indicated. He walked quickly down the halls, passing a lot of serious looking witches and wizards in clean looking grey robes. He supposed these were the wizarding equivalent of doctors.

At the end of the hall, Credence stopped in front of Mr. Graves room. He took a moment to breath, and then entered.

The room was small, and full of a lot of strange looking instruments that looked nothing like the medical equipment Credence had seen before. There were two of the grey robed witches standing by, examining them.

In the centre of the room was a bed, and on it lay Mr. Graves. Credence swallowed, and tried to choke back tears.

The man who had always appeared so solid to him, so sure and sturdy was now frighteningly pale and thin. He'd grown a short beard, grey and patchy. His eyes were open but looked unfocused, and he seemed to be mumbling something to himself, that Credence was too far away to hear.

Credence approached slowly, but one of the witches stopped him.

"He's in bad shape," she said. "Lashes out if you get too close."

Credence nodded. Behind him he heard Queenie and Ms. Goldstein enter the room. Queenie gasped softly at the sight of Graves.

"What's wrong with him?" Ms. Goldstein asked, her voice flat.

"Physically?" The witch asked. "Nothing that we can tell. But he's been under great psychic and emotional stress. We're bringing in a ESPER to assess just how much psychic damage was done, but honestly I'm not even sure they'll know what to do. The magic that's been done here is darker than I've ever seen..."

Credence took this all in very slowly, not really processing any of it.

Queenie turned away. "I'm sorry, I can't—" she looked ill. "My head, I can't..." with an apologetic look to Credence, she ran out of the room. Ms. Goldstein looked like she wanted to go after her, but remained where she was.

"She legilimens?" The other witch asked. Ms. Goldstein nodded. "Psychic trauma was probably too much for her. Whatever is happening in his head right now, it's not pleasant."

Credence stared at Mr. Graves, feeling a hopelessness settle in his chest. Graves had always taken care of Credence, protected him. And now Credence was just standing there, unable to do a thing to stop his pain.

"What's he saying?" Credence mumbled, hardly aware he was even speaking.

"Sorry?" The first witch asked.

"He's muttering something..."

"Oh, it's just gibberish mostly. Every now and then he says something about no-maj currency, but that's about all we can understand."

Credence frowned. "No-maj currency?" He repeated.

The second witch nodded. "Pennies. He says he needs pennies, or a penny. It's to be expected, really, in his state--"

The frown on Credence's face deepened. "A penny? Why would..." Something clicked in his mind and Credence knew what Mr. Graves needed. "Penny..." he said slowly. "That's his sister." Both witches and Ms. Goldstein stared at him. "His sisters name is Penny. Penelope. She's studying magic in England at St. Mungos. That's what he's saying he needs."

At that moment, a witch swept into the room followed by two wizards in snazzy looking suits. The wizards carried with them a sense of importance and authority, but from the moment the trio entered the hospital room, it was immediately clear to Credence who was in charge. The witch, in gilded head piece and ornamental robes. Credence new at a glance that this is not someone to be messed with—and not just because she had been the one to order him killed.

Credence turned away, desperately hoping his disguise and the fact that she believed she'd watched him die would keep her from recognizing him.

“Madam Picquery,” Ms. Goldstein cried, springing forward slightly. “You came!”

Madam Picquery glanced at Ms. Goldstein, appearing surprisingly ruffled by the comment. “Of course I came. I've worked with Percival Graves for twelve years, he's my most trusted auror... and my friend.” She added, an unexpected touched of emotion in her voice. She turned sharply to the witches overseeing Graves. “What's been done to him?”

The two witches exchanged looks. “We're still sorting that out... ” One said. “He's been subjected to horrible psychic stress. We're bringing in an ESPER to determine—”

“Well, where are they then?” She demanded. “This man has been kidnapped and tortured by the darkest wizard of our age. I want every care given to him, by my order and on my expense.”

One of the witches nodded. “Madam President, we're doing everything we can—”

Madam Picquery's eyes flashed angrily. “ _Do more_ ,” She said, her voice steely. “What can be done _now?_ ” She looked to her snazzy-suited associates. “Go and see if you can find someone who knows what they're talking about.” She instructed. The two wizards nodded, and ducked out of the room while the two witches stood their with their mouths open, clearly offended.

Credence shifted uncomfortably on his feet, wanting to say something but fearing recognition. Unfortunately his small movement did not go unnoticed, and the president turned her eyes to him.

“Who are you?” She demanded.

Before Credence could open is mouth, Ms. Goldstein stepped forward. “He's a cousin, of Mr. Graves. He lives close by and when we found Graves, this morning I sent him an owl and told him to come down here, so that Graves would have some family with him.”

As Madam Picquery considered this story, Credence and Ms. Goldstein exchanged looks, both hoping she had bought it.

“Well... good thinking, Goldstein,” She said. Credence let out a low breath. “It'll be good for him to have some familiar faces once we get him some help.”

Almost against his will, Credence found his mouth opening and sound coming out. “He wants—”

“We were just discussing that before you came in,” Ms. Goldstein said, cutting Credence off. “Graves has been muttering the name of his sister, and we think it means he wants to see her.”

Madam Picquery nodded. “Where is she?”

“At St. Mungos, studying the healing arts.” Ms. Goldstein replied.

“Hmm,” Madam Picquery said, considering this. “Graves has always been a practical man. Perhaps his desire for a family reunion isn't entirely sentimental. Maybe he'd prefer treatment at St. Mungos.” She stared at the witches attending Graves. “They have some world renowned ESPERs there, don't they?”

The face of one of the witches turned scarlet. “Well, yes, but—”

“But what?”

“But sending a patient between hospitals is tricky, and rarely done an-and costly—”

Madam Picquery narrowed her eyes. “And yet we're going t do it.” She replied. “Make the arrangements, I want him moved with in the hour.”

The red-faced witch opened her mouth and seemed trying to stutter some sort of protest, but nothing was discernible. Her companion stepped up and spoke for her. “Madam President, it takes at least twice that time to prepare the Medikey—”

A warning look flashed across the presidents face, and both witches seemed to know better than to argue further. Casting a dark look between them, both witches left the room.

From his bed, Mr. Graves made a loud moaning sound, and began shifting violently. Credence instantly jumped forward, rushing to his side. There was a wild, far away look in his eye and his mouth was opening and closing as he gnashed his teeth. Helplessness was not a foreign feeling to Credence, but he couldn't remember every feeling it so sharply before. Mr. Graves was in pain, out of his mind and there was nothing Credence could do.

Graves arms flailed a bit and grabbed hold of Credence's collar. He pulled him close and Credence gagged as his shirt choked him. Credence tried to pull himself away but Graves' grip was too strong and he could not pull free. 

Ms. Goldstein and the president rushed over and grabbed Credence by the back of his coat. Before the were able to pull him off, Graves sputtered something into Credence's ear. Credence's brow furrowed, not understanding. Finally, they were able to get him free, and Credence panted slightly, rubbing his neck. What had just happened?

“They said he lashes out if you get too close...” Ms. Goldstein mumbled. “I suppose this is what they meant.”

The president was looking at him once more, a shrewd look on her face. Credence's heart pounding a bit. Had she finally recognized him? “Did he say something to you?” She asked. “Just now, I thought I heard him...”

Credence shook his head. “It was gibberish,” he muttered, turning away from her to look at Graves. He seemed to have calmed down slightly, but was still staring up at the ceiling with a wild eyed look. “I don't think it meant anything.”

One of the witches came back into the room, her face still slightly pink. “The Medikey will be ready within the hour,” she said stiffly. “Will Mr. Graves be making this journey alone?”

Madam Picquery considered this for a moment. “I think it best that I escort him, just to oversee his care at St. Mungos when he arrives. I'll take Langley and Robertson with me.”

Credence tensed slightly. He was going with Mr. Graves, no matter what. He didn't care if he was recognized, or killed. He would not leave him alone. Not again.

Thankfully, for the first time in his life circumstances seemed to be working in his favour. “Madam President, unfortunately under this sort of short notice we can only provide a one way trip, for one additional person. If we had more time—”

Madam Picquery frowned. “Right... well, I suppose his family should accompany him then,” She said, turning to Credence. “How does England sound to you, Mr.... I'm sorry, I never did get your name.”

“It's Stone,” Ms. Goldstein hastily provided. “Theodore Stone.”

Credence nodded, as if to confirm that he was indeed the person Ms. Goldstein claimed. He fought off the urge to scratch his head, suddenly finding that whatever charm had been used to grow his hair longer was actually making him quite itchy.

“Right, well, if it suits Mr. Stone, then I think he best he go with Percival. In my absence I can only assume family will look out for him the way I would have.”

Credence nodded. “I wouldn't let anything happen to him.” He said quietly.

Madam Picquery seemed to find this response acceptable, and she turned to the witch. “Mr. Stone will be going with Mr. Graves. He's family.”

The witch nodded, and left the room once more. Madam Picquery stared after her for a moment. “Will you both excuse me a moment, I'm going to follow up with Langley and Robertson, tell them there's no need to find anyone else.”

“Of course, take your time,” Ms. Goldstein said.

Madam Picquery took a step towards the door, and then paused. “I don't think I ever commended you, on finding him. How you knew where to look I'll never know but... I'm grateful. We all are.” The corner of her mouth turned up a bit, in a very small but somewhat kind smile. “Perhaps I misjudged you, Goldstein.”

The moment she had gone, Ms. Goldstein let out a low breath. “Oh my god, I thought I was going to have a heart attack!” She said, running her fingers through her hair. “Thank god she didn't recognize you... although, I guess she probably never knew what you looked like in the first place... I mean, you were in the papers but maybe she never saw that issue..." Ms. Goldstein shook her head and then seemed to get a grip on herself. “Are you sure you want to go to England, Credence? Getting back won't be easy, you'll have to come the no-maj way, like Newt.”

“I won't let him go on his own,” Credence said. “It's all my fault this happened to him. I can't leave him.”

“Credence, it is not your fault,” Ms. Goldstein said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “None of this is. I wish you'd believe me about that.”

Credence glanced away. “Either way, I'm going with him.” He said, trying to inject a firmness into her voice to make her understand his decision was final. He wasn't sure it worked.

“Well... I'll send an owl to Newt then, let him know you'll be in his neck of the woods. At least he'll be able to help you, while you're there.” Ms. Goldstein looked at him, a slightly saddened look on her face. “You sure you'll be alright, going so far away?”

Credence was not sure, at all. He'd never been outside the city in his entire life, and now he was going thousands of miles away to a place where he knew practically no one, save for the freckle-faced man that had once tried to save him from himself. But for Graves, he would do it. Without thought or question, he would do it.

“I'm going to go get Queenie,” Ms. Goldstein said. “She'll want to say goodbye.”

She turned towards the door, but Credence stopped her. “Wait, Ms. Goldstein...” he said. She paused, and looked back. “I lied. Before, to the president. She asked me what Graves had said... I lied. It wasn't gibberish. Well, it was, but...”

Ms. Goldstein nodded. “What did he say, then?”

Credence bit his lip. For some reason, something about what Mr. Graves had said upset him.

“He said 'will we die? Just a little.'”

Although those words held no meaning to Credence, it was clear from the look on Ms. Goldstein face that they did to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A "Medikey" is like a Portkey, but strictly used by hospitals for patient transfers. It's much gentler than a portkey, and can be trusted to transport people without exacerbating their injuries. I was going to explain that all in the chapter, but there never seemed to be a good time. I'll probably put that at the start of the next chapter, but until then I didn't want there to be confusion.


	14. Chapter 14

  
Credence shifted around his feet, chewing nervously on his thumb as he waited for nurses and doctors—or more accurately, the healers and overseers, as he had learned they were called—to finish prepping Mr. Graves for travel with the medikey. A medikey, Ms Goldstein had explained to him, was somewhat like a portkey, except it was strictly used to transfer patients and occasionally staff between hospitals. That explanation would have been helpful to Credence, if only he had any idea what a portkey was.   
  
Despite the culture gap, Credence had gotten the gist: it was a device used for travelling.

Next to him, Ms. Goldstein was thinking with her brow furrowed, drumming her fingernails against her cheek. Every now and then she would get a look on her face like she had figured something out, only for Queenie to reply “that doesn't make any sense, Teenie,” before she could even open her mouth. Then she would go back to thinking. 

While Ms. Goldstein thought, Queenie seemed to be trying to lighten the mood a bit, and was telling Credence all the things he had to see while he was in England. “Oh, and there's this ice-cream shop they got, supposed to be the best in the word. It's something with an F... Florence, or Florens or something. Have a couple scoops for me, will you?”

Credence nodded, not sure he would have time to get to do any of Queenie's suggestions.

Ms. Goldstein sighed loudly. “I just don't know,” she said, not for the first time.

Since Credence had told her what Graves had said to him, when he'd almost strangled him to death, Ms. Goldstein had been desperately trying to figure out what it meant. She refused to consider the possibility that it had simply been gibberish, but seemed afraid to tell Credence why she thought this.

Shaking her head, she continued “Maybe you shouldn't go with him, Credence. It could be dangerous....” She trailed off, seeing the look on Credence's face. “I know you care for him, but try and understand—”

“Teenie, you haven't even told him _why_ you suddenly think it's so dangerous. You think he's just gonna leave the man he loves _alone_ because you said so?” Queenie said. Ms. Goldstein glared at her sister. “Just tell him, Teen. He already know there's something you're not saying.”

Ms. Goldstein sighed once more. “Alright. It's just... what Mr. Graves said to you, it's—well, I've heard it before.”

Credence raised his eyebrows. “From who?” He asked. 

She paused. “Gellert Grindelwald.” She said eventually. “It was the last thing he said, right before they led him away.”

Credence blinked, not entirely sure what to do with that information. “He... Grindlewald said that?” He asked. 

Ms. Goldstein nodded. From the somewhat nauseous expression she wore on her face, Credence guessed she was thinking the same thing he was. _How did they know for sure that the man in that hospital room was Percival Graves?_  

“You two calm down,” Queenie said, putting one hand on each of their shoulders. “Grindlewald is locked up at Macusa and they're transferring him to Azkaban any day now.”

Credence sighed slightly. He was growing somewhat weary of all these new terms he didn't understand.

“Azkaban is the wizarding prison,” Queenie went on to explain, sensing Credence's confusion. “Everyone uses it, for the worst of wizarding folk. It's impossible to escape from.”

Credence raised an eyebrow. “Impossible? Are you sure?”

Queenie nodded. “Well, no one's ever done it, so we're pretty sure.”

“To break out of that place... well, you'd have to have some _serious_ magic. Power or abilities beyond even what Grindlewald has.”

“So why isn't he there now?” Credence asked. “Why wait?”

“First he has to stand trial, for the crimes he's committed. He's such a huge figure, I think they're drawing everything out to make an example of him,” Ms. Goldstein said.

“A lot of people are lobbying for his execution, over imprisonment,” Queenie added. “But I don't think they'll do that.”

Ms. Goldsten crossed her arms. “Shame,” She muttered. Queenie looked surprised. “What? It's what he tried to do to _me._ ”

“You don't mean that, Teen. I know you don't.”

Ms. Goldstein shrugged slightly. “Some of me does.”

“Who's guarding him?” Credence interrupted. “Grindlewald. There must be someone watching him, right now, isn't there?”

Ms. Goldstein nodded. “We've got guards watching him every second, and aurors checking in every 20 minutes.”

“Is there anyway we can contact them, right now? Just to make sure...” Credence asked. He needed to know, know for _sure_ that the man in the other room was Mr. Graves. _His_ Mr. Graves, and not an imposter wearing his face. Before he left with him, travelled miles and miles away to a country he'd never been to... he needed to know for sure.  

Ms. Goldstein looked to her sister. “Queenie, couldn't you just...”

Queenie shook her head. “I couldn't tell before, either,” She said. “Whatever spell he had connecting their minds, it made it impossible to tell who he really was. But... from what I did get, when I was in there earlier... ” She shook her said slightly, looking troubled. “I don't think they're faking. They've been through something. Something awful. 

A moment of quiet followed this, and Credence found himself wondering if he should really be hoping it was Mr. Graves in there. Of course he wanted him back, wanted to know he was safe and alive... but if the person in that room was suffering, did he really want that to be Mr. Graves? 

“I'll use one of the hospitals owls, and send a note to Macusa.” Ms. Goldstein said. “You two stay here, I'll be backs soon.” She said, before taking off down the hallway.

Queenie watched her walk off, and then looked to Credence. “How're you doing, honey?” She asked. “This can't all be easy for you...”

Credence raised an eyebrow. “Don't you already know how I'm doing?” He asked. 

Queenie shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, but I usually find it's polite to ask anyhow. Not to mention it helps people to talk about it.”

Credence nodded slowly. “Do you... ever feel like you're in a dream?” He asked quietly. “Not a good dream either... not exactly a nightmare, but just... do you ever feel like things aren't real? Or the things that are happening... they're happening to someone else?” He wasn't sure he was explaining himself correctly, or making any sense at all, but Queenie had asked how he felt and that was the best he could do the describe it.

To his surprise, Queenie nodded. “After we lost our parents to the dragon pox, I used to feel that way a lot. It's like, kinda like you're floating above yourself, watching everything happen from very far away. And you look down, and you see all the terrible things going on below you and you feel... bad, you know? Bad for that person down there, going through whatever they're going through. You feel bad and you wish you could help... but it's got nothing to do with you.”

Credence's mouth opened slightly, surprised to find someone put into words exactly the way he was so used to feeling. “How did you deal with that? How did you stop yourself from floating away completely?”

“Well, see I was lucky. I had a tether.” Queenie said, a small and somewhat sad smile on her face. “No matter how bad I felt, or how crazy I thought I was gonna go, my sister was always there to hold my hand and keep me grounded, no matter how far away it all seemed.”

“That must have been nice,” Credence said. “I mean, not nice.. but less terrible. To have someone to go through things with.” He thought of Modesty, and how thanks to him they would both be going through everything alone. He hoped she would find someone at her orphanage, someone kind to hold her hand when she felt all alone in the world. Even when she'd had him and Chastity, she often complained of loneliness, missing the much larger family she'd come from... and now she had no one.

Queenie put her hand on his shoulder. “You're not alone either, Credence.” She said. “You got me and Teenie, and in England you'll have Newt. He's nice, you'll like him. And with a little time and healing, you'll have Graves back, stuffy grumpiness and all.”

Credence nodded, and in that moment it occurred to him just how much he was going to miss Queenie, and Ms. Goldstein. They had taken him and helped him, even after all he had done. They had been kind when he had no one. And now he had to leave them. 

“Oh, I'm gonna miss you too,” Queenie said, pulling him in for a hug. “You promise you'll at least come visit somehow, alright? And you'll send owls all the time? Borrow Newt's, I'm sure he has at least a dozen.”

“I promise,” Credence said, squeezing Queenie back.

***

An overseer came to get Credence shortly after Ms. Goldstein went to send the owl, and escorted Credence into a small room where they had set up Mr. Graves in another hospital bed, this time with his back propped up. He seemed to be asleep, but was turning fitfully in his bed.

“Just make sure you keep _all_ of your limbs inside the blue square,” The overseer said, gesturing to the blue square painted on the floor. Mr. Graves' hospital bed was positioned over it, next to a small round table. “Unless you don't want to them travel with you.”

Credence nodded, and stepped into the blue square, standing next to Mr. Graves. He looked over at him and his stomach churned. He wished he could take his hand, or help soothe him in some way... but the fear of being lashed out at again stopped him. What's more, he wasn't sure it would help either way.

One of the witches who had been overseeing Mr. Graves earlier entered the room, carrying a small steel statue which she placed on the table next to Mr. Graves. The statue was of two snakes winding around a winged staff, and Credence recognized it as being a symbol of medicine.

“Are you ready to depart?” The witch asked Credence cooly. Something in her tone suggested she was still a bit miffed from her encounter with the President.

Realizing he had never said a proper goodbye to Ms. Goldstein, Credence was on the verge of saying he was not, but something in the look on the healers face told him he better not. He supposed he would just have to send an owl, thanking her for kindness and protection, which he had never deserved but appreciated none the less.  

At that moment, a overseer stuck their head into the room. “Would Mr. Stone please step out into the hall for a moment?”

It took Credence a moment to remember that Mr. Stone was him, and he lurched forward slightly and stumbled out of the room, feeling the healer glare at him the moment he did so.

Outside of the room he found Ms. Goldstein waiting for him, her face flushed. “I just got an owl back. He's still there, for sure. They sent photographs—” Ms. Goldstein thrusted a piece of paper into Credence's hands. He took it from her, and saw it was a black and white photograph of a wizard in a jail cell. Like all of the photographs and portraits at Mr. Graves' apartment, this one was moving. The wizard in it turned and smiled at Credence, his mismatched eyes catching the light of the flash and glinting strangely. 

So this was Gellert Grindelwald, the way he really looked. It wasn't what Credence had pictured, at all. He had been expecting someone frightening, intimidating... terrifying. This man looked unhinged, that was true... but there was something almost cartoonish about him that made it hard to truly fear him.

“This was taken less than hour ago, and the auror who wrote back to me assures me hasn't left his cell.” Ms. Goldstein went on. “So it can't be him in that room.”

Credence nodded. He was surprised to find he didn't feel more reassured. “Well... that's... that's good then.” He mumbled.

Although Ms. Goldstein could not read his mind, she seemed to know what he was thinking. “But then we still don't know why Graves said what he said,” She said. “I've thought about it—endlessly, since you told me, really—and the only thing I can come up with that makes any sense is that it must have something to do with the spell Grindlewald used to connect their minds. Grindlewald's wand has been confiscated, and if he can't have access to his wand then the spell would have faded by now... but if it was still working when Grindlewald said that, then it's possible Graves was just repeating it.”

Credence nodded again, not sure if that was a good thing or not. “Is it... is it possible that the spell... hasn't faded?” Credence asked, voicing a terrible thought that he couldn't seem to rid his mind of. “Is it possible there's some part of Grindlewald trapped in his mind, even now?”

Ms. Goldstein didn't answer immediately, but her silence told him all he needed to know. It was possible, and what was worse, it was not unlikely.

“Excuse me, Mr. Stone?” The healer said, leaning out of the room. “This spell we're working is rather complex so if you don't mind wrapping up your goodbyes...”

“He'll be in in a minute,” Ms. Goldstein said curtly. The healer smiled, not nicely, and disappeared inside the room. Ms. Goldstein looked to Credence. “Are you sure you want to do this?” She asked. “ _No one_ will blame you if you don't want to go. It could be dangerous—” 

“Ms. Goldstein...” 

“—It's just, we don't know what's happening in his mind right now, and with the connection to Grindlewald it could be better to just—”

“ _Tina,”_ Credence said, interrupting her. She closed her mouth, appearing surprised to have been called by her first name. “I won't leave him,” he said. She looked for a moment as if she would continue to argue, but the look on Credence's face must have told her there was no point.

Instead she put her arms around him and pulled him in for back breaking hug. “Please be safe,” she said quietly. Credence nodded. “And write to us, all the time.”

“I already promised Queenie I would,” Credence said.

They pulled apart, and Ms. Goldstein smiled at him. “Goodbye Theodore Stone,” she said, her eyes shimmering with the start of tears.

Credence smiled back, feeling somewhat like crying himself. “Goodbye Tina Goldstein,” He replied. She took his hand in hers for a moment and gave it one final squeeze, and then he turned around and entered the room that would lead him to another world.

 


	15. Chapter 15

After taking his place next to Graves in the square at the center of the room, Credence shut his eyes, bracing himself for what he was sure would be an unpleasant journey. If travelling by Medikey was anything like apparating, he had a feeling he was not going to like it much.  
  
A shiver ran down Credence’s spine, like someone dropping a handful of snow down his back. Graves stirred slightly in his sleep.  
  
It took a moment, but then Credence realized something had changed; the statue. A moment ago it had featured two snakes intertwined around a staff. Now one snake had disappeared, leaving the other on its own.  
  
Credence frowned, wondering what it meant.  
  
He received his answer a moment later, when someone burst in through the door—a healer, but not one he recognized. The wizard who entered the room wore a crisp white robe, instead of the grey ones all the others had worn. Credence wondered why his was different.  
  
“Ah, you’ve arrived,” The wizard said, in a thick English accent. He smiled somewhat stiffly, but Credence could only gape back at him.  
  
Without his even realizing, he was in England.

  


***

Healers and overseers came and escorted them from the room, taking them down a long twisting white hallway to a small room where a familiar looking witch was waiting for them.

Penelope Graves was just as beautiful as her portrait had been, even with her expression twisted up into a look of great pain as they wheeled her brother into the room. Her eyes were red and watery, but she seemed to be holding herself together.

“I need Emrys Ambrose here, and I need him here one week ago,” She instructed the overseer, who glared slightly at her for a moment before presumably turning to do as she was told. “And where's Advika? I told her to be here. She has the Masterwort and Angel's Breath for the potion...”  
  
“I'm here, I'm here...!” Cried a dark skinned witch as she hurried into the room, carrying an armful of jars and bottles.  
  
“You know how to make Mercy's Draught?” Penelope asked. The witch she had called Advika nodded quickly. “Make it.”  
  
Advika nodded again and began scurrying around the room for the tools she needed.  
  
For the moment she seemed to be done giving orders, and Penelope Graves finally went to her brothers side. “Oh, Percy... what have they done to you...” she brushed a piece of hair off his forehead, and he grimaced in his sleep and muttered something indescribable.  
  
Credence glanced down at his shoes, feeling as if he should give Penelope some time alone with her brother, but at the same time far too reluctant to leave Graves. He wondered what he was going to say when she noticed him—having spoken to her portrait before, Credence somewhat felt like he knew her, but she would likely have no idea who he was. How he was going to explain who he was, and what his relationship with her brother was... Credence did not know.  
  
“When they said they were sending someone along with him, I know right away it would be you...” Penelope Graves said quietly. A minute passed before Credence realized she was addressing him. The witch straightened up and turned to Credence, giving him a small but somewhat strained smile. “It's wonderful to finally meet you, despite these circumstances...”  
  
Credence stared at her. The way she spoke, it seemed as if she knew him. As if he wasn't a stranger to her.  
  
“You look surprised. Did you think Percy wouldn't have told me about you?” Penelope asked. Credence wasn't sure how to answer. The truth was that the idea of Graves discussing him with anyone hadn't occurred to him in the slightest. “It's true, Percy typically keeps his personal life under lock and key, but I've long since mastered the art of reading between the lines of the letters he sends me, and I knew something was going on. I couldn't even say how many letter it took before he finally told me he had taken an interest in someone. He wouldn't say much else on the subject but I could tell that whoever they were who'd caught his eye... they were special.”  
  
Credence stared at her, unsure what to do with the information. “Oh,” he said.  
  
He was saved the trouble of having to come up with something else to say by the appearance of an incredibly tall, lanky wizard with long blond hair who survived Credence with a piercing look that made him feel as if he was being stared through instead of at.  
  
“Emrys, thank goodness you're here,” Penelope said. “It's Percival, he's been attacked. They're saying—”  
  
“I know what they're saying,” Emrys drawled, sweeping over to the side of Graves' bed. “Leave me, both of you. This man has been subjected to unspeakable psychic torture and I need to concentrate without your thoughts distracting me.”  
  
Credence looked to Penelope, who opened her mouth, likely with the intention of protesting.  
  
“Do you want to stay here and hold his hand while he suffers, or leave me in peace while I heal him?” Emrys asked, shooting her a steely look.  
  
Penelope closed her mouth, glaring. After a moment of tense silence, she turned to Credence. “We'll wait outside.” She said, turning on her heel.  
  
Supposing he should follow her, Credence shot a last look towards Graves, and headed out of the room as well. The other witch who had been in the room, Advika, emerged a moment later, fuming that he had taken the potion from her and was insisting he finish it himself.  
  
Advika stormed off somewhere, leave Credence alone with Penelope. She looked at him, seeming somewhat deflated. “We'll check back in an hour,” she said. “For now, how about I show you what I've been working on here?”  
  
As Penelope led Credence away from Mr. Graves, a growing worry began in Credence’s chest. Before he had died, before had discovered that he was the monster from which the people of his city had needed protection, before he had almost lost the most important person in the world to him… before it all, Credence had been soft. He had been easily broken and bent, a misshapen and easily disturbed mess of a person who wept easily and panicked at the slightest provocation.

He had thought, in some distant way, that that had changed. Surely his soft skin had hardened now, after all the lies and the pain, the loss and terror. Surely it had moulded him into someone who could handle whatever life threw at them, without crying and breaking down?

He had thought this… but as he trailed behind Penelope through this strange wizards hospital in a country thousands of miles away from his home… he realized that no such thing had happened.

He was alone here. Without Mr. Graves, he was truly alone. He had never been alone before, not really. In some ways, of course, he had been alone his entire life… but he has always someone to look after him. His parents… his true parents… then Mary-Lou… then the Goldstein sisters, briefly. There had always been someone around to help him, feed him, clothe him, put a roof over his head.

In this country, a world away from everything he had ever known, who did he have? If Mr. Graves never returned to himself, never recovered--would he be able to get back? Would he be on his own, forever? What would happen to him? Where would he go? How would he find food? He had starved before, of course, but eventually Mary-Lou had always allowed him to eat again. To starve to death seemed a worse fate than he could have imagined. Why had he been so eager to leave behind what had possibly been the best home he’d ever had, with Tina and Queenie? Why had he thrown all of that away on a man who may never even know who he was again?

Despite the misery settling in his chest, Credence knew the answer to that question. Because he loved him. And even if Graves would never know him again, never be able to love him back… he would not leave him alone.

“Here we are!” Penelope said proudly, leading Credence into what appeared to be a large greenhouse. “What sorts of things do you know about plants?”

Credence looked around, momentarily forgetting his worries at the sight of the most incredible room he had ever seen. Credence did know a few things about plants; when to water them, how to keep them healthy and thriving. Mary-Lou’d kept a small garden in the back of their church, and he and Chastity had taken turns caring for it. Credence had liked to work out there, away from the squabbling children that were a constant presence in their home, and his mothers judgmental eagle eye.

“I… I know some things, about plants...” Credence said, looking around. “But not plants like these.”

The plants in the greenhouse were unlike any Credence could have imagined. They were everywhere, climbing up the walls and hanging from the ceiling. They were all different colours and sizes, and most of them seemed to be happy to move of their own accord. One large green plant with large tentacles was slithering down around Credence's feet and he jumped back, startled.

Penelope laughed. “Don't worry about the flitterbloom, it's entirely harmless. Although you do need to be careful of it's identical twin, the Devil's Snare. That'll choke the life out of you.”

Credence looked uneasily down at the plant at his feet. “How do you tell them apart?”

She paused. “Well, I suppose the way to know is by whether or not you're being strangled to death.”

Credence did not feel reassured. He moved a few steps out of its reach, and the flitterbloom curled back into itself and seemed to go to sleep. He turned his attention to a bush of pretty purple flowers, which did not seem to be moving or masquerading as something that could kill him.

“Aconite,” Penelope said, nodding to the plant. “Also called monkshood or wolfsbane, used in making the Wolfsbane potion. Deadly poisonous, but very pretty look at.”

Credence frowned. He was starting to wonder if there was anything safe in the wizarding world.

“Now if you look over here, towards the window—” Penelope said, pointing to a large plant in a square pot. The plant looked like a small willow tree, but instead of long leaves trailing down, the plant was covered in silvery, glowing strands that emitted a strange fragrance, like something very sweet but musky at the same time. “Angel's breath. It's one of the main ingredients in mercy's draught, the potion we're making for Percy.”

Penelope ran her fingers through the silvery strands and it emitted a quiet noise, almost like wind chimes. Credence peered at the strange plant. “This is going to heal him?” He asked.

“It's most certainly going to help him,” Penelope replied. “When crushed, the leaves of the angel's breath can be made into a powerful healing potion. However, what makes it different from most healing plants is that angel's breath doesn't heal the body, but the mind.” As she spoke, she added a few specks of glittering rocks to the soil of the plant. They sat there for a moment, before the soil slowing sucked them in.

A knocking sound drew Credence’s attention, and he looked over to see two wizards at the door of the greenhouse. One appeared to be an overseer, by the look of his uniform, and the other was a thin freckle-faced wizard in a long blue coat. Credence recognized him from the subway. This was the man who’d tried to help him—Newt Scamander.

The overseer stepped into the room. “A Mr. Scamander is here, and claims to have business with Mr. Stone.”

Penelope frowned. “He has business with who?”

Credence glanced away. “Uh, that’s… that’s me.”

“Oh, right of course,” She said, giving a short, forced laugh. “How silly of me. Yes, Mr. Scamander do come in,” She stepped forward, moving to shake his hand. Credence noticed that Mr. Scamander shook her hand rather quickly, looking past her as he did so. The moment they let go, he strode towards Credence.  

“Theodore, it’s good to be able to see you again,” Mr. Scamander said, giving Credence a short and somewhat strained smile. It reminded him of the way Mr. Graves always smiled, as if it was something they’d been taught to do, but did not feel a natural inclination for.

Credence nodded. “Did Ms. Goldstein write to you?” He asked.

Mr. Scamander nodded. “I’m afraid her poor owl practically collapsed from exhaustion trying to get to me so quickly. He’ll be alright, of course, just needs a few days rest.” He looked quickly over at Penelope. “Well, we should be going now…”

“Going?” Penelope repeated. “Where are you going?”

Mr. Scamander. “Home. My home. Theodore and I have much to discuss, you see, so if you don’t mind--”

Penelope crossed her arms over her chest. “But I do mind, Mr. Scamander. _You_ see, Mr. Stone will be staying with me while he visits here, so if you don’t mind perhaps _you_ should be going now.” 

Credence looked back and forth between the two of them, unsure what to do. Never in his life would he have imagined having two people fighting over him like this. He supposed Mr. Scamander’s interest in him lay in protecting people from the unstable force of dark magic that lived inside of him, but he couldn’t imagine why Penelope would insist he stay with her.

Mr. Scamander frowned. “Now, Ms...”

“Graves,” Penelope said cooly. 

“Ms. Graves, Theodore is an old friend of mine whom I haven’t seen in a while, and I would very much appreciate the time to catch up with him.” He said this an an air of someone trying very hard to be very patient when they did not want to be.

Penelope looked to Credence. “Is this true?” Credence nodded quickly, and she sighed. “Well, I suppose it’s alright then. But we will get together for tea, frequently, alright? My brother hasn’t shown this much interest in someone for a decade, and I want us to be friends.”

Once more, Credence nodded.

“Right, now that that’s settled I think we should be--”

Another knock on the door interrupted Mr. Scamander. It was yet another overseer, looking somewhat flustered and out of breath.  
  
“Sorry,” the overseer huffed. “Mr. Ambrose sent me, told me to run...” He wiped his brow.

Penelope raised her eyebrows, moving towards the overseer who was still in the midst of catching his breath. "Well?!"

The wizard straightened up and looked between them. “Percival Graves," He said. "has just woken up."


	16. Chapter 16

Rushing back to the room where they had left Mr. Graves, Credence, Penelope and Mr. Scamander found Emrys Ambrose waiting outside the room for them.

“What’s going on, what’s happening with my brother?” Penelope demanded, rushing forwards.

“He’s awake, but he’s still a bit incoherent,” Emrys advised. “I would suggest that he not be greatly disturbed at the moment, and have as few visitors as possible.”

“I need to see him,” Credence sputtered, at the exact moment that Penelope said the same thing. 

Emrys rolled his eyes. “Fine, you two may see him.” He looked to Mr. Scamander. “I trust you have no problem waiting out here?”

“Actually, I am a bit curious to see--” Mr. Scamander began, stopped, seeing the look on Emrys face. “The waiting room, of course.”

He cast a glance to Credence, who tried his best to look like someone who posed no danger to anyone around them and was not a bomb in the shape of a person, one which could explode at any moment. Mr. Scamander nodded and went off, so Credence supposed he must have succeeded. 

Emrys opened the door, and Credence and Penelope cautiously stepped inside. Mr. Graves was somewhat sitting up in bed, head resting back against the wall behind him. Credence wasn’t sure why he’d expected him to look better than he had the last time he’d seen him, only an hour or so ago, but it was still like a fist in his stomach when he did not. His eyes still appeared vacant and his head was lolling slightly to the side, as if keeping it up was far too difficult to attempt.

He did not look over when they entered.

“The damage that was done to his mind was extensive,” Emrys began, walking over to Mr. Graves’ side. “Imagine a knot, huge and tangled and impossible to unravel stuck far back in his minds eye. Now I’ve done my best to loosen the knot, and ease some of his pain, but to actually unravel it… it will take time.”

“But you can do it?” Penelope asked, wringing her hands.

Emrys paused. “It’s not up to me. It’s up to him. I can help, of course, as will the Mercy’s Draught… but only he can untangle the threads of his own mind.”

Mr. Graves made a noise, and they all turned to him. Quietly, he spoke. “I don’t… like this...” He mumbled.

Penelope and Credence were at his side at once. Credence took his hand and squeezed it, trying to hold back tears.

“What don’t you like, Percy?” Penelope asked. Credence thought she seemed to be holding her own tears in as well.

“Talking… all this talking… as if I’m not here,” Graves shook his head, looking at his sister. “I can hear you. I’m not dead.”

Penelope laughed and Credence felt a tear rolled down his cheek. Perhaps it would be alright… perhaps Mr. Graves was not lost to him. His mind was a maze of pain and confusion, but perhaps he could be led back.

Mr. Graves looked down at the hand Credence was holding, as if noticing it was being squeezed for the first time. Slowly he followed the hand up to Credence’s arm, and then Credence’s face. His brow knit together, and it suddenly occurred to Credence that he was wearing a disguise. Would Mr. Graves recognize him? 

Slowly, Mr. Graves’ eyes grew wide. “But… but you’re dead,” he said quietly. “He… we… we watched you die. They killed you.”

“No! I’m not… I didn’t. I’m alright, Mr. Graves...” Credence reached out to touch his face, wanting to soothe the look of fear and pain he saw upon it, but Graves jerked away and pulled his hand out of Credence’s grip.

“No, no it’s not true, it’s not real. It’s a trick, it’s another of his tricks,” He muttered, shaking his head. “You’re dead, I know you are.”

“Percy, why do you think he’s dead?” Penelope gently questioned. “He’s right here.” 

“It’s not true!” Graves shouted, his eyes wide and mad. “I watched him die!” He thrashed around in his bed, growing more angry. “I saw it through his eyes I saw him die and I could do nothing!” As he shouted, he picked up a vase by his bedside table and hurled it towards the wall where it smashed into a thousand pieces. “I did nothing and he’s dead I--”

Emrys reached forward and touched his fingers to Mr. Graves’ temple, and he instantly fell asleep. Credence let out a breath, and wiped a tear off his cheek.

“He needs to rest, you’ll have to come back tomorrow,” Emrys said, pulling out a long silver wand with a twisted handle. He flicked his wrist and the broken vase instantly reassembled itself and put itself back on the table by Graves. 

“Alright,” Penelope said, looking reluctant to leave. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

 With a last glance towards Mr. Graves, Credence allowed himself to be led from the room. 

Out in the hallway they met back up with Mr. Scamander, who had apparently had chosen not to wait in the waiting room. “I heard something smash, is everything alright?” He asked.

“Just a vase, Percy got a bit upset. He’s still somewhat out of sorts.” Penelope said. She looked to Credence. “Care to explain why my brother seems so sure that he watched you die?”

Unsure how to answer, Credence stared at her with what he was sure was probably a very stupid expression on his face until Mr. Scamander intervened. “I’m sure Mr. Graves is just confused. He might not even know who he was looking at, in his state.”

Penelope raised her eyebrows, not looking for a moment as if she believed that. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small notebook and pen and handed it to Mr. Scamander. “Write your address in there, I’m going to drop by tomorrow morning so we can come back to see Percy together.” She looked at Credence. “And before that, I want you to come up with a better explanation as to why he thinks you’re dead.”

“Ms. Graves, I hardly think it’s necessary to—”

She thrust the notebook at him more violently, and Mr. Scamander sighed and took it from her. “We may be busy tomorrow morning, so I can’t guarantee anyone will be home when you call.” He said, writing his address down.

“I’ll take my chances,” She said coolly. Turning to Credence she said “Well, try and get a good night's rest. I expect today has been a trying one for you.” She stepped towards him and took his hand in hers. “I have to say again, the circumstances are terrible, but I am so glad to finally meet you.” She smiled at him, and pressed a quick kiss against his cheek. “Goodbye, Credence.” She whispered.

After a quick nod to Mr. Scamander, she turned and left.

 

***

 

As they left the hospital, Mr. Scamander was quiet. Credence wondered where they were going, though he supposed it would make no difference to him as he had no inclination of what anything around them was.

They took an elevator down to what appeared to be a lobby and just as Credence was wondering where the exit was, Mr. Scamander suddenly disappeared. Credence stopped and stared, wondering where he had gone and how on earth he was supposed to follow. Had he apparated away? It seemed to quick and quiet for that, not to mention somewhat rude.

Then he was back again, striding towards Credence and shaking his head. “Right, of course, that was stupid of me. I should have explained...” Mr. Scamander stopped. “You have to walk right through the wall to get out.”

Credence looked at the wall—which appeared to be quite solid—and then back to Mr. Scamander.

Mr. Scamander nodded. “I assure you, it’s perfectly safe.”

Credence sighed, and nodded. Mr. Scamander went forward and once again disappeared once he’d reached the wall. Credence hesitated, and then without thinking charged forward, screwing up his eyes closed just in case he hit the wall.

Somewhat surprisingly, he didn’t, and when he opened his eyes he was on a busy street, perfectly unharmed. He looked around, and was surprised to find no hospital behind him. Instead it seemed he had come out of the window of what appeared to be an old crumbling department store with an ugly mannequin in the window. The sign said Purge and Dowse.  

“Are we going then?” Mr. Scamander said, raising his eyebrows. 

Credence. “Where… are we going, exactly?” He finally managed to ask.

“Home, of course,” he replied. Then he took hold of Credence’s arm and they apparated away.

 

***

 

Mr. Scamander lived in a small cottage apparently in the middle of nowhere. The cottage was quaint, but somewhat dilapidated looking. The grass was overgrown and filled with weeds, and the garden off to the side was entirely empty, except for a prickly looking bush and a goat. The goat, Credence thought, seemed to be trying to figure out how to eat the bush without getting hurt.

“He wanders over from the muggle village a few miles west of here,” Mr. Scamander said, nodding to the goat. “I don’t have it in me to shoo him away.”

They walked through a splintery wooden gate up a stony path to the front door. “I apologize for the state of things out here. Usually I keep this place in a better condition but I’ve been away for quite a while and I only just got back. I’ve been preoccupied setting everyone up inside, so the outside still looks somewhat ruinous I’m afraid.”

Credence nodded, and followed Mr. Scamander inside, wondering who “everyone” was.

They stepped into the cottage, and Credence was surprised to find that it was much larger than it had appeared to be from the outside.

From the outside Credence had assumed it was a small, one story home, perhaps big enough for two people to live in a comfortable fashion. Inside, however, there were at least two more floors and enough space to fit a large sized family and whatever guests they invited over. The inside of the cottage was fairly well-kept, aside from a few boxes lying here and there, and an empty briefcase which lay open on a table.

“Well, here we are,” Mr. Scamander said, looking around. “Please, make yourself at home, Credence. We’ll get you set up in the guest room, the one with the bed of course… the bathroom is down the hall to the left, and there’s two more upstairs as well. The kitchen is right over here, help yourself to anything you like. Perhaps tomorrow we can go to the market and we can get the sorts of things you like.”

Credence looked at him, unsure what to say. This was beginning to be somewhat overwhelming for him, being around all these people that inexplicably did not seem to hate him. First the Goldstein sisters, then Penelope and Mr. Scamander… for some 20 odd years of his life he had been met with very little but hate and scorn. Mary-Lou had resented him, the people he met on the streets found him odd and unpleasant.

Terrible as it had been, he supposed he had grown accustomed to it. He was just not a person that people cared for. If the woman who claimed herself to be his mother couldn’t care for him, then what chance did he have of someone else doing it?

“Credence, are you alright?” Mr. Scamander asked, peering at him. “Your eyes are red.”

“I’m fine,” Credence muttered, turning away. He looked across the room and spotted a large red door. “Mr. Scamander—”

“Newt,” He insisted. “Please, call me Newt. 

“Newt, what’s through that door?” Credence asked, trying to move the subject away from the fact that he was on the verge of crying like a baby.

It seemed to work, and Newt smiled. “Ah, that’s my favourite part. Just finished setting it all up yesterday, actually,” He said, striding towards the door.

Credence followed, and found himself in a small shed, one which he was fairly sure had not existed from the outside of the cottage.

Newt picked up a small bag labelled “Bowtruckle Feed” and handed it to Credence. He himself grabbed a few buckets of various sizes and then headed to a door on the other side of the shed.

Credence had seen a lot in the past little while. He had seen strange plants that moved of their own accord, and travelled thousands of miles in an instant, and walked through a solid wall. He had begun to think that nothing about the wizarding world could surprise him anymore—he had been wrong.

Through the shed door had not been another room. Instead Credence found himself outdoors, in a wide open plain, with an amazing clear sky of stars overhead. It stretched on as far as he could see—not just the plains, but all sorts of different places. To his left there was a forest, with lush trees and rocks and to the right Credence could see snowy mountains and clouds hovering over them.

But the landscape was not the most interesting thing about this place. No, far more interesting than that were the animals. Just like the plants in Penelope’s greenhouse, Credence had never seen their like before.

The moment they had walked in Newt had been swarmed by a herd of… well, Credence supposed the animal they most bore a resemblance to was sheep, but that was a hard pressed comparison. Their necks were impossibly long and their eyes were huge and staring as they gathered around Newt, trying to get their heads inside the bucket he was holding. Newt laughed and began to throw the pellets over them where they hovered for a moment before they slurped it down.

Credence jumped slightly, feeling a weight land on his shoulders but not seeing anything. He turned around a few times, panick growing as he felt fingers in his hair but still not seeing what was doing it. “N-newt…!”

Newt looked up from the sheep-things and smiled. “Now, Dougal, be nice and show yourself.” He said. A moment passed and nothing happened. “Please.”

The _please_ seemed to do the trick, and suddenly Credence found himself looking at some sort of monkey type creature, with long grey hair and large dark eyes. It stared at him and he stared back, unsure of what to do. After a moment it patted him on the head. Credence wondered if he had just been claimed as its pet.

“Dougal is a demiguise,” Newt explained, putting down the bucket and moving over to the forest area. Credence followed as quickly as he could with Dougal the demiguise riding on his shoulders. “They can turn invisible, so they’re very sought after, as wizards use their fur to make invisibility cloaks. I recused Dougal here from a witch in the far-east, trying to make him into a coat.”

Credence looked at Dougal, who looked back with his wide eyes. Credence wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but he thought he could see something wise in them. He couldn’t imagine someone trying to hurt this creature, who was once again playing with his hair, ruffling it and moving it around.

“Here, Credence, put some woodlice out for the bowtruckles,“ Newt instructed, indicating the bag in Credence’s hand. He gestured to a tree to his left. “Yes, just scatter the lice along those grooves there—”

Credence did as he was told, scattering what to him seemed to black grains of rice throughout the tree, although at first he didn’t see any animals to feed. It was just an empty tree, with strange green twigs covering it—except the twigs seemed to have eyes, and were staring at Credence with a look of mistrust. When he moved back, the twigs began to move slowly towards the woodlice, still keep their beady eyes on him. After a moment, most of them let their eyes fall to their food and began to eat, but one still stared at him. As he stared back, it raised its arms up and stuck out a very tiny pink tongue.

“Titus, come now,” Newt scolded, looking disappointed. “That’s no way to treat a friend.”

“It’s alright,” Credence said. “I’m used to not being liked. I mean… if people don’t even like me, what are the odds that another species would?”

Newt’s regarded him with something like surprise. “Actually, I’ve come to find that most all species are easier to get along with than people,” he replied. “Look at Dougal here. He’s known you for five minutes, and he already likes you.”

Credence looked up at the demiguise on his shoulder. “I suppose….” he said. Dougal gave him another pat on the head, as confirming this to be true.

The three of them—Newt, Credence and Dougal—went around the enclosure feeding the various animals. Newt told them all about how he’d acquired most of them—every single one of them had been rescued from some dangerous situation, or extinction by him—and talking about the sorts of things they ate and the different abilities they had. Occamy, Newt said, showing him several small bird like creatures, were hunted for their valuable silver shells, and could grow or shrink to fit the size of any enclosure.

On top of a large rock Credence saw a creature that looked like a lion and was told it was called a Nundu, and had breath so toxic that it could wipe out entire villages, and people tended to fear and mistrust them because of it. Newt said this with an air of disbelief, as if he found it somewhat silly that something like toxic killing-breath could make people distrust something.  

The niffler, Credence learned, was a small platypus sort of thing that liked the shiny objects, like money, gold or jewels. He saw this first hand when he looked down and found that the three gold buttons on his jacket had been stolen, and were found inside the pouch on its furry belly. After tickling the buttons out of the niffler, Newt sighed and gave them back to Credence.

“It’s alright, I can sew them back on,” Credence said. He went to pocket them, but Newt stopped him.

“Don’t worry, I can take care of them,” Newt said, pulling out his wand. He waved it upwards and the buttons flew out of Credence’s hand and fastened themselves back to his jacket, good as new. “See, all done. No need to do things the muggle way, pricking your fingers with a small needle or whatever they do.”

Credence frowned. He had heard Newt use that word before. “What’s a muggle?” He asked.

Newt looked surprised. “Oh, right. Well, it means non-magic folk. You’d know them as no-majs.” He explained.

“Oh,” Credence said. He wasn’t sure he liked that word. Somehow it seemed like elegant than no-mag. “Like me...”

Newt tilted his head to the side. “Credence, you’re not a muggle,” he said. “You may not know how to do magic, but you’re most certainly not a muggle.”

Right, of course. He couldn’t have been a muggle, or a no-maj. No-majs didn’t have monsters living inside of them. “No, but I’m not like you… I’m not a wizard.”

“You’re not?” Newt asked. “Then what are you?”

“I’m… an obscurus, or something.” Credence said quietly. “I’m a monster.”

Newt stepped towards him, and caught Credence’s eye, something Credence did not think he’d done before. Newt had a tendency to look slightly to the left of people, Credence had noticed. Looking people in the eye didn’t seem to be something he was comfortable with, and Credence understood that all too well.

But now Newt looked him dead in the eyes. “You are not a monster, Credence,” He said firmly. “What you are is a very powerful wizard who has been forced to suppress their magic, and in turn that magic has rebelled and become something uncontrollable. But that is not your fault, and it in no way makes you a monster.”

Credence said nothing, half not believing a word Newt said and half wishing he could.

Newt looked away, turning towards a family of what he had said were called graphorns, feeding in the distance. Newt said they last breeding pair in existence. “You know, a lot of people—especially where you’re from—they would call these creatures monsters, too. Most people don’t care to get to know them, or learn about them, see they’re just interested in how to get rid of them.”

Credence looked at the graphorns, watching the baby snuggle under it’s mother once it was done feeding. He thought he understood what Newt was trying to say. “I don’t know any magic. I can’t control it...” Credence whispered.

“I can teach you to control it,” Newt said. “I can teach you how to do magic. 

Credence swallowed, and looked at him. He had heard that before. “You’re not lying to me, are you?” He asked.

Newt glanced at him, and put his hands in his pockets. “Credence, I have often found that lying is somewhat of a necessary evil, when the situation calls for it. But I will make you a promise. Unless the situation will result in your imminent demise, or suffering, I promise that I will never lie to you. Alright?”

Credence nodded. “Alright.”


	17. Chapter 17

When Credence awoke the next morning, he was disappointed to find that the disguise Queenie had given him was gone, and he once more looked like himself. While he didn’t think he was going to miss the facial hair or bright green eyes, he did find himself wishing he could have kept the long hair for a while. He’d grown to like it. 

Together with Newt he had a quick breakfast of oatmeal, and then Newt told him they would be heading out to the hospital to visit Mr. Graves.

“Penelope said she would meet us here...” Credence reminded him, as Newt pulled on a long blue coat.

Looking away, a slight smile appeared on Newt’s face. “Something tells me she won’t be able to find the house. I’m sure she’ll be waiting for us at St. Mungos.” He replied.

Wondering what that meant, Credence questioned him no further and followed Newt out of the house.

The mystery of what Newt’s comment had meant was solved quickly, as a very angry looking Penelope was indeed waiting for them in the lobby of the hospital. 

“Good morning, Ms. Graves,” Newt said pleasantly. 

“I suppose you think you’re very funny, don’t you?” Penelope asked, glaring at Newt. Credence shrank back slightly, uncomfortable. “You could have just said you didn’t want me to come by, instead of giving me the wrong address.”

“I believe I did try to say something along those lines,” Newt said, walking towards the elevators. Penelope stomped after him. “I don’t recall you accepting that.”

“Whether or not I  _ might  _ have been a tad pushy is besides the point!” She cried. “That’s not how you handle it. You don’t send a person to some random muggle’s house in the middle of nowhere! I was talking to that old woman for an  _ hour  _ before she let me leave. She kept telling me about her grandchildren and how they never visit...”

When Newt gave no response she turned on her heel to Credence, who flinched in anticipation of being held as an accomplice to whatever Newt had done. The anger on Penelope’s face immediately melted away. “Oh, no, not you darling, I know you had nothing to do with it.” She assured him, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m holding Mr. Scamander solely responsible.”

The elevator opened and they stepped inside, Penelope continuing to glare at Newt. 

“Which floor, Ms. Penelope?” A small, squeaky voice asked. 

Credence looked around for the source of it, and found a very small creature with huge flapping ears and wide staring eyes looking up at them from the corner of the elevator. The creature was extremely ugly, and seemed to be wearing what looked like a dirty pillowcase by way of clothes. 

“Good morning, Brinny,” Penelope greeted. The funny little creature nodded back to her. “Has it been a pleasant one so far?”

Brinny wrung her hands slightly. “Oh, yes, yes, very pleasant!” Brinny cried. “Brinny has only been kicked once so far, and hardly screamed at...”

The fury was back in Penelope’s face. “Who kicked you, Brinny?” She asked, horrified.

Brinny continued to wring her hands, but said nothing. Try as she might, Penelope was unable to get the small creature to say who had hurt her. Credence sympathized with her, and wondered if there was a reason she was protecting the person who had kicked her. 

When they exited the elevator, Penelope was very reluctant to leave Briny alone. “It’s not fair, the way people treat house-elves,” Penelope muttered darkly as they walked down the hall. “As if they don’t have any rights—which, I suppose, they don’t—but just because it’s the law doesn’t mean it’s right!” 

“I agree,” Newt said, looking somewhat surprised at himself. Penelope looked equally shocked. “It’s a terrible habit of wizards, to treat anything that’s different as either a threat, or something lesser and insignificant.” 

Penelope nodded. “I just don’t understand why she wouldn’t tell me who it was...”

“She’s protecting them,” Credence said, surprised it wasn’t obvious to Newt and Penelope. They turned to him, appearing confused. “She doesn’t want to get them in trouble, not over her.”

Newt nodded, frowning grimly. “Of course,” he said. 

“What!?” Penelope cried.  “Why would she protect someone who kicked her? That doesn’t...” She shook her head. “I simply don’t understand. She’s just fine with being kicked?”

Credence shrugged and rubbed his arm. “I’m sure she’s not fine with being kicked… maybe she just considers keeping them from facing consequences more important than her own well being.”

Penelope looked somewhat disgusted. “That’s absurd. What kind of a creature could think such a thing? It’s ridiculous.”

Credence turned away, feeling hurt. In truth he knew exactly what the house elf was doing, because it was what he had done for years, for his mother. It just hadn’t seemed worth it, to say something. He hadn’t been worth it. 

“Perhaps the kind that had been raised to believe they had no value,” Newt said quietly. Credence looked up and found he was looking at him. He ducked his head again. “It’s easy for us, who of course feel that Brinny has value to say she should believe the same of herself. But house elves are brought up with the idea that all that matters is the needs of their masters. Not them, not what they want.” 

“But I keep telling her--”

Newt looked at Penelope. “To be told something is one thing,” he said. “To believe it is another entirely.”

Penelope frowned, looking extremely troubled. Credence couldn’t understand why it was so difficult for her to understand something that seemed so clear to him. 

“We should go,” Penelope said, after a moment. “Percy will be waiting for us.”

She headed off down the hall, and with a glance to Newt, Credence followed after her. 

When they entered the hospital room, Emrys Ambrose and an overseer were fussing with Mr. Graves, trying to get him to take a potion. “You know this will help you, I can tell,” Emrys fumed. “Why won’t you just drink the damned thing?” 

“It burns,” Graves hissed, knocking the drink away. “I don’t want it. You’ll have to kill me.”

“No one’s going to kill you, Mr. Graves,” The orderly said in a calming voice. “You’re perfectly safe here, and this potion will make you feel much better.”

“Lies, fucking lies!” Graves cried. “All you people do to me is fucking lie.”

“Percy, language!” Penelope scolded, rushing into the room. “Honestly, what would Mother think?”

“I’m not sure, but when I see her, I will do you a favour and ask,” Graves muttered. He looked over at Credence, who was approaching slowly. “Oh, wonderful. Speaking of lies… at least he looks better this time, not sure what was happening yesterday.” 

Credence felt his stomach twist. He hated that Mr. Graves didn’t believe he was real. What could he do to prove to him that he hadn’t died, and was more than just a trick of the mind? 

“Percy, why do you think Credence is dead?” Penelope asked, making her voice soothing. “He’s right here, you can touch him if you’d like.” 

Penelope raised her eyebrows at Credence, and Credence supposed she meant that as a cue to him to touch Mr. Graves. He reached out and put a hand on his cheek, stroking him gently. For a moment, Credence thought it was working; Graves closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. A moment later he opened them and looked up at Credence sadly. 

“His tricks were always so convincing. How many times did I see them come to rescue me? How many times did Credence find me, and promise me I was safe now? Even you, Penny, even Mother and Father. I knew they were dead, I knew you were in England, I knew no one would find me… and yet when he showed you to me I believed it. Every time, I believed it. Because it was no much nicer than what was true.”

Mr. Graves stared straight at Credence, and the look on his face broke Credence’s heart. “But you died,” Graves said softly. “I watched them kill you. So whatever this is, no matter how it feels and how much I want it to be true… it simply isn’t.” 

He lifted his head away, and said nothing more. For the rest of their visit, he refused to say anything to Credence, or even about him. It was hard not feel hurt, but Credence tried not to take it to heart. However much this was hurting him, he knew that Mr. Graves must have been hurting a hundred times worse. Credence supposed that it was like Newt had said. They could tell Graves that Credence hadn't died, that he was alive and in front of him... but it was another thing for him to really believe it. 

Finally it was time to leave, and with a last glance towards Graves Credence followed Newt and Penelope out of the door. 

Once they were out of the hospital, Newt attempted to say goodbye to Penelope, but she had other plans. 

“There’s a lovely little cafe in Diagon Alley that I think you’d both enjoy,” Penelope said. “If you give me your hands, I’d be happy to take you there on my treat, so we can have that discussion we were supposed to have this morning.”

“While that sounds lovely, Ms. Graves, Credence and I do have some urgent business to attend to, so if you don’t mind--” 

“I insist,” Penelope said, smiling in a way that made Credence think she was not going to take no for an answer. She held out her hands to them, and Credence took one, thinking he would very much like to see more of the wizarding world. Especially after the morning he’d had. 

Finally Newt sighed and took her hand as well, and the three of them apparated away.  

When they touched back to solid ground, Credence found they were in alleyway going off a busy street corner. Penelope brushed her skirt down and led them out of the alley, and in to a small pub between a record shop and a bookstore. 

“Why not just apparate right in to the alley?” Newt asked as they followed Penelope in to the pub. “It’s quicker,”

Penelope shrugged and continued to walk through the pub. Credence looked around, and wondered if this was the place Penelope had been talking of. Something about the place did not scream “lovely little cafe” to him, but what did Credence know? 

But they exited the pub a moment later, out in a cramped and bricked in alleyway. Credence looked around, still confused. 

“Truth be told, I hate apparating into the alley directly,” Penelope confessed. “It’s always so busy and once I had the unfortunate experience of, well, landing on someone… so I’m not entirely keen the repeat that.”

Penelope took out her wand, a long, thin one with a silvery handle and curving vines moving up it, and tapped some bricks. As she put her wand away, Credence saw a hole appear in the bricks. It grew wider and wider until a large archway had appeared in what had a moment ago been a solid wall. 

“Now, here we are,” Penelope said brightly. “Diagon Alley.” 

Penelope had not been lying about the busyness of the alley--it was absolutely packed with people. Witches and wizards all roaming through the streets, coming in and out of shops with their arms full of parcels--or the parcels levitating beside them as they walked on, unencumbered. 

Penelope did she best to lead them through the throng. Newt as well seemed somewhat uncomfortable with the amount of people and Credence sympathized. However, he kept finding himself forgetting about how uncomfortable the crowd made him, as he was somewhat distracted by trying to look around at everything.

Each shop window was filled with something more fascinating than the last; Flourish and Blotts had a large book open in it’s window which featured a terrifying dragon stomping back and forth between the pages, blowing incredibly real looking fire and burning up the words above it. 

Outside a store called Trilliums, a witch in long purple hat seemed to be demonstrating something the “wand extender” which she promised would amplify the effect of every magical spell by ten times its strength. Unfortunately when she tried to give proof of this, the bowling ball in front of her turned into a balloon and then exploded in her face. As they went by, Credence heard her trying to claim that was exactly what she was trying to do, but somehow Credence doubted it. 

Finally they came to a cafe called Artise’s, and Penelope brought them inside and seated them at a table in the back. A tired looking waitress came over and took their orders; as Credence had never heard of anything on the menu, he simply ordered the same thing Newt did. 

“Now,” Penelope said, staring Newt and Credence down. “Why does my brother think you’re dead?”

Hesitating, Credence looked to Newt. While he didn’t understand Newt’s reservation in telling Penelope the truth, he still didn’t feel comfortable doing something he was clearly against. Newt breathed in deeply through his nose.

“Alright,” he said. “How much do you know about Grindlewald’s capture in New York?” 

“Just as much as anyone else knows,” Penelope replied. “It was in the Daily Prophet of course—they don’t love to report American affairs, but Grindlewald is big news so it got a cover story and everything. I know he was captured by the aurors, with great assistance to one Porpetina Goldstein and Newton Scamander.” She raised her eyebrows at Newt. “I know they’re holding him for trial at their ministry, and a lot of people are lobbying for his execution. What I don’t know is how my brother fits into this horrific mess, or Credence for that matter. Why did Grindlewald want to hurt Percival?”  

“It’s my fault,” Credence blurted. “He kidnapped him and took his face to get to me,” 

Penelope frowned. “To get to you? Why would he—” 

“Do you know what an obscurus is?” Newt asked quietly. 

“You mean that monster inside children from the witch trials?” Penelope asked. Credence cast his head down.

“It’s not a monster, it’s an uncontrollable force of dark magic,” Newt corrected. “But yes, that. Grindlewald believed there to be in New York, and he wanted to use it as a weapon.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow. “One in New York? These days? Impossible, no one’s seen an Obscurus for ages,” 

“Though that’s believed a fact by many, it is unfortunately untrue,” Newt said. He looked to Credence. “There’s an extremely powerful one sitting across from you right now.”

Penelope looked to Credence. “What?” She looked back to Newt, then to Credence again. “But obscurus are children! They can’t live into adulthood, that’s impossible.” 

“I think you should consider expanding your opinions on what’s impossible,” Newt said. “He did live, and he is an adult.”

Penelope’s mouth opened, and then closed. Credence thought she might have been at a loss for words. “But...” 

“Regardless of whether or not it’s possible, that is why Grindlewald came to New York and kidnapped your brother.” 

“He thought I might know who the child was,” Credence said miserably. “He wanted my help finding it… he lied to me, told me he could teach me to be like him, to do magic...”

“But you were the one he was looking for all along?” Penelope asked. Credence nodded. “My god.” 

“I don’t know how, but he must have known I was close to Mr. Graves… that’s why he hurt him. That’s why he’s in pain now… because of me.” Credence turned away, not wanting to see the look of disgust on Penelope’s face. She’d been so quick to like him, so kind to him… he was sure she would hate him now that she knew. 

“Credence,” Penelope said. Her voice was gentle. “Darling that hardly sounds like your fault at all. What crime did you commit? Caring for my brother? The no-majs might consider that a crime but the rest of us know that love is never something to turn away from. No, this was all Grindlewald. The man is a monster.”

Looking back up again, Credence saw Penelope did indeed not appear disgusted by him. He wanted to cry from relief. 

“But,” Penelope went on. “That still doesn’t explain why Percy thinks you died.”

“Well… after Grave—after Grindlewald told him he’d lied to me, and that I would never be a wizard and he’d only said those things to get me to help him… I sort of… went off,” Credence explained meekly. “I… I thought it was Graves, and that everything he’d told me about caring for me had been a lie. I thought it all been fake and I… it broke my heart.” Credence swallowed. “You were right to call the obscurus a monster, Penelope. That’s exactly what it is. And I let it out, and it attacked people… destroyed half the city… I didn’t even try to stop it...”

Somehow Penelope still looked at him with sympathy. “That sounds terrible, Credence I’m so sorry that happened. And Newt was right to correct me; you’re not a monster, not at all. Grindlewald is.”

Credence appreciated her saying so, but didn’t entirely believe her. Grindlewald’s responsibility for what had happened did not cancel out his own. 

“Newt tried to help me,” Credence went on. “Him and Tina… they tried to tell me it would be alright, that they could make the monster go away. I… I wanted to listen but then...” he looked to Newt, as he was a bit fuzzy on that part of the story. 

“The aurors,” Newt explained. “The ones everyone is praising for defeating Grindlewald. They came and they shot him up with spells… he was already unstable… it’s an unstable entity by definition, the obscurus, and Credence having lived with it for as long as he had… it looked as if he exploded. We all thought he was dead, actually, until Tina wrote to me to tell me they’d found him alive.”

“But Mr. Graves was still missing,” Credence added. “No one ever told him.”

Penelope nodded. “And after all he’s been through, he hardly seems capable of accepting it now.” She reached across the table and put a hand on Credence’s. “But he will, darling. He’ll get better, and I bet you any day now he’ll realize the truth.”

“I hope so,” Credence said. 

A tray of food came floating over to them, controlled by the waitress from the other side of the room. She flicked her wand lazily and the tray landed with a  _ plop  _ on the table. Credence took his, which turned out to be some sort of cake thing and began to eat. It was wonderful. Credence couldn’t have said what it tasted like, but it was light and fluffy and sweet and just over all fantastic. 

After a few moments of eating in silence, Penelope spoke again. “There is another matter I’d like to discuss.” She said, looking towards Credence. “Credence, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re wearing the same clothes I saw you in yesterday… and that when we met, you hadn’t any bags with you...”

Credence looked at her, unsure where she was headed. 

“Well, perhaps when you came over here, did you… not bring anything with you?” 

“Oh,” Credence said, looking down at his cake. “Not exactly, no...” 

“Nothing?” Newt asked, surprised. 

“He has no luggage, where did you think he was keeping everything?” Penelope asked. 

“There’s a lot of places he could have been storing his belongings, actually,” Newt said defensively. “Pockets, for example. You’d be surprised what you can fit in a pocket, with the right spells.” 

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Regardless, he needs to go shopping,”

Credence grimaced. “I don’t have any money….” 

Penelope waved her hand. “Oh don’t worry about that, I’d be more than happy to—” 

“No, please,” Credence interjected. “You’ve already been so kind to me, I couldn’t—I won’t take your money. I’m sorry, but I can’t.” He couldn’t stand to become even more of a charity case than he already was.

Penelope pursed her lips. “Alright, I suppose if that’s how you feel...” she paused. “What about a job?” She asked. 

“A job?” 

She nodded. “I’ve been looking for an apprentice at the hospital, to help me. They said I could bring someone in if I needed to, but I haven’t found the right person yet.” She smiled. “If you’re going to be here for a while, it might be a good idea to have some money coming in. I can loan you something now, and you can put your payments towards paying me back for a little while. If that’s alright?”

“I… it would be… but I, I’m not sure how I could help you,” Credence said. “I don’t know anything about magical plants,”

She waved her hand again. “Hardly important. You’ll learn and I’ve no doubt you’ll be brilliant at it.” 

Credence opened his mouth, unsure what to say. He felt overwhelmed with gratitude, for both Newt and Penelope and the kindness they had showed him. 

“Excellent,” Penelope said. “Now that’s settled, let’s go shopping!” She said cheerfully. 

“I’m sure you won’t need me for this,” Newt said, not looking nearly as excited about the idea of shopping as Penelope did. 

“Nonsense, a male perspective might be important in this instance,” She said, waving the serving witch back over to pay. “Besides, it will be fun.” 

Newt could not have looked like he agreed any less.    
  



	18. Chapter 18

There was many things Credence had longed for during his life with Mary-Lou Barebone. Experiences he’d been deprived of, the sorts of things he imagined most people had in their lives but were denied to him. Such things included a loving family, friends and companions, a feeling of safety and comfort in his own home. He’d had none of these things, but had often thought of what it would be like if he were to experience them.

He imagined cooking a meal with a mother who loved him, smiling and chatting as they prepared food for a large and loving family. He’d imagined countless scenarios where in he had friends, laughing with them or going out on the town, doing whatever it was friends did together. He thought of falling asleep in a bed at night, feeling warm and happy and knowing that when he awoke in the morning, he would be safe and loved. 

Of all the experiences he had longed for and dwelled upon, imagined and turned over in his mind again and again, shopping at not been high on the list. Yes, it was something he had not experienced before (most of his clothing had come from donations to their church. Occasionally Mary-Lou would pick up something secondhand, but his opinion or preference had never been asked) but he hadn’t really felt it was something  _ missing  _ from his life either. 

And so, as Penelope led them into the the busy store in Diagon Alley, it was with more of a sense of trepidation and uncertainty that he entered, than actual excitement. From the look on Newt’s face, he felt he was not alone on this matter. Penelope, however, seemed excited enough for five people. Her enthusiasm was not uncontagious, and so despite the reservations he had, Credence tried to be hopeful that this experience would turn out to be a good one. 

The first store they entered was a small shop that was so crowded with witches and wizards that Credence immediately wanted to give the whole thing up and go home. Clothes, he decided as he was pushed back and forth by the bustling crowd, were a highly overrated luxury. Fortunately for him, Penelope seemed to agree. 

“I’ve never seen it like this before,” She muttered, squeezing her way back through to crowd towards Credence, who had pushed himself back into a corner and was trying his best to phase directly into the wall. “There’s no point in even looking around, you can’t see anything and people keep grabbing things before I can get close. Let’s go.” 

Breathing a sigh of relief, Credence followed Penelope back out of the store. Five minutes later the returned, realizing they had forgotten Newt. 

Newt in tow (he had not realized he had been left behind, and simply assumed he’d lost Credence and Penelope in the crowd for a few moments) they headed into their second shop. This one was much larger, and had about a quarter of the people in it. 

“Much better,” Penelope said, appraising their surroundings. “Much more civilized.” She turned to Credence. “Alright, let’s get to it. Before we start, what styles would you say you lean towards more? Are there any particular colours or looks you’re fond of that I should keep in mind?”

Credence stared at her. He had no idea liked what he liked in clothing, as he had never had the options of choosing it for himself before. “I...” He floundered, unsure what to tell her. “I don’t know.”

Penelope frowned. “Well… how about I bring around what I think would l suit you, and you can figure out what you like or don’t like from there?” 

Credence nodded and Penelope began to go around the store, tapping certain garments with her wand, where they would fly over to a small enclosed area near the back of the shop, where Credence supposed you were supposed to try things on and get fitted. She did this for about ten minutes, before calling Credence over and telling him to start trying out the clothes. 

“If you see something you absolutely hate the sight of, don’t bother trying it on,” Penelope said, as Credence disappeared behind the curtained enclosure. “But do try and keep an open mind, because some items do look better once you’ve tried them on. Not to mention, if you like something but it doesn’t fit properly, I can adjust the fit myself, I do that with a lot of my own clothing.” 

Looking through the outfits Penelope had pulled out, Credence couldn’t help but notice there was quite a lot of bright, bold colours everywhere. Emerald greens and rich purples, deep blues and canary yellow. And while they were quite nice to look at, somehow he couldn’t see himself in them. He did like colour, he just wasn’t sure it suited him. 

Figuring it would be better to get it over with, Credence grabbed a few things and threw them on, knowing immediately that the colours did not go. The outfit he’d put together looked terrible on him, and Penelope was right, none of it fit properly. But he could hear Penelope asking if he was ready, and with a deep sigh he exited the changing room. 

From the look on her face, it was immediately clear that he looked even worse than he thought. “No, no, you can’t wear those things together you have to—” Brushing past him, Penelope entered his change room and began rearranging the pile of clothing he had into outfits. It’s supposed to be this top with these pants, then this vest and jacket—see?” She looked at him and he nodded, then she clapped him on the shoulder and left him to change again. 

Selecting one of the outfits Penelope had put together, Credence was surprised to find that when paired up properly, it wasn’t all half bad. She’d put darker items with the bolder colours, and instead of being flashy or bright it actually had a rather nice effect. 

When he stepped out the second time, he knew it was much better. Even Newt, who had been edging quietly over to the door, looked up and gave an approving nod. 

“You look wonderful, Credence,” Penelope said, smiling from ear to ear. She had him turn around in front of her and she added some pins he thought he had stolen from the seamstress. “And see we’ll just pin it like this and it will all fit better…  what do you think?” She asked. 

Looking at himself in the mirror, Credence didn’t know what to think. Somehow he could tell that these clothes were indeed much nicer than the ones he’d always known, and that he looked much better in them. But he wasn’t sure he was comfortable in them. “I… like the vest and pants...” he said uncertainly. He didn’t want to offend her,  but he didn’t want to lie, either. 

Penelope nodded, and far from being offended, ran back into the change room and began rearranging outfits again. “Here, then try these ones together, they’re suited for that vest as well… more of an old fashioned look, vintage is very in right now you know… ” 

And so it went on like that, in at least four different shops throughout the day. Penelope went around the store grabbing this and that, then told Credence how to put it on. Based on his comments or tastes, she would grab more things and put others back. 

Somehow Newt did not abandon them as the day went on, although Credence got the sense that he would very much like to. Credence was glad that he did not, though, because Newt seemed to be better reading him, and on the rare occasion he absolutely hated an outfit Penelope seemed to love, Newt was there to voice what Credence was thinking. 

Some trouble was caused when Penelope began trying to pick out things for Newt, and he flat out refused to put on anything she brought him, insisting he had enough clothes and was not in the market for anything new. Penelope seemed to take this rather personally, and much to Credence’s dismay, stopped asking Newt for his opinions on the outfits she picked for him. 

Fortunately for him, Newt continued to voice them anyhow. 

At the end of the day, Credence was exhausted. Shopping had been incredibly tiring, but not entirely unfun. While trying on things that looked terrible on him was discouraging, finding something he actually liked made him feel surprisingly good. 

Once they were finished purchasing the clothing, they travelled back to Penelope’s apartment, so she could fit them properly for him. Though she said she lived with in walking distance from Diagon Alley, they apparted in anyways. The apartment was surprisingly large for one person. It had two bedrooms and a spacious living room, with an eat-in kitchen. Like Graves’ apartment in New York, the walls were covered in moving portraits of what he assumed were relatives. Penelope also had an enchanted window of her own, this one overlooking a beautiful meadow and a clear crystal lake. Fluffy white clouds hung low in the sky, drifting lazily over the glass surface of the lake. Credence could see horses running in the distance, and could almost smell the fresh summer air. 

Even Newt was somewhat entranced by the spell on the window, and pressed his fingers gently against the glass as he looked out at the scenery. “It’s beautiful...” he said quietly. 

Penelope looked pleased. 

“It is,” Credence said, thinking about the window in Graves’ apartment, and the time he had spent there. It seemed like so long ago, another life time. Everything was so different now. Better, he knew, in so many ways. But even so, at least back then he’d had Mr. Graves… now the man refused to believe he was alive. 

Finally Penelope said it was time to start altering the clothes, and placed Credence on a small stool in the middle of her living room. As she pulled and adjusted the clothing, she began to tell him about the sorts of things he would be helping her with as her new apprentice. 

“It’s mostly just helping me maintain the plants, and mix them in to potions when they’re ready, but there will be some research involved, and a bit of running errands,” Penelope said, waving her wand and guiding a sewing needle through the coat he was wearing, pulling it in at his sides. “If you’re comfortable with patients you might be able to help me there too, but we’ll see about all that later.”

“This job you’ve given him,” Newt said, looking over from the couch. “Will you be needing him everyday?”

Penelope looked up at him. “Well, yes, that’s what I was thinking...”

Newt frowned. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. Part of the reason Credence is staying with me is so I can help him with the Obscurus. I know it seems to have been dormant since the fight in New York, but I’m sure it’s not gone and if it resurfaces, I worry he won’t survive this time.”

Credence’s stomach turned, thinking about the instance in Queenie and Tina’s apartment, when he’d almost let the Obscurus out again. Clearly it was not as dormant as Newt thought. 

Penelope nodded. “Of course, of course,” she said, turning back to her alterations. “That’s entirely more important, just tell me what days you can spare him and we’ll go from there.”

Newt looked surprised. “Really?” He asked, sounding dubious. It was likely he’d expected more push back from her. 

Penelope rolled her eyes. “ _ Of course!”  _ She said. “Credence’s safety is obviously more important than a job, and if you know how to help him then I won’t take him away anymore than you think should be safe.”

“Right...” Newt said, still seeming somewhat taken aback by Penelope’s agreeableness. “Well, Credence and I really haven’t had much of a chance to discuss a proper plan, so I think he should hold off on the job for a few days, until we know exactly how stable he is.” He paused, but Penelope just nodded. He looked to Credence. “What do you think?” 

An uneasy sense had settled in Credence’s stomach. He knew Newt wasn’t going to do anything but try and help him, and he knew that the Obscurus wasn’t a problem he could simply ignore… but somehow the idea of attacking the issue head on frightened him. What if what Newt did brought it out again? Would he survive that… it seemed unlikely. And what of Newt, or whomever else got caught up in his fallout? 

Trying his best to swallow his fears, Credence mustered out some sort of positive answer. 

“I think that should do it for now,” Penelope said, standing back from Credence. “Leave the clothing with me and I’ll put the final touches on them. I’ll bring them to you tomorrow morning when we meet at the hospital.” 

Newt stood up, and Credence stepped down from the stool. “If you need to contact us, I live in the small cottage about five miles west of a muggle village called Bevelary.” 

Now it was Penelope’s turn to look surprised. “Alright,” she said slowly. “Thank you.” 

After changing back into the clothes Queenie had given him as part of his disguise, Credence and Newt said goodbye to Penelope and apparated back to Newt’s home. 

“Why did you tell Penelope where you live?” Credence asked when they popped back up inside the the walls of the cottage. “I thought you didn’t want her to know...” 

“I decided it was best she be able to contact us,” Newt said, removing his jacket and hanging it up on a coat rack near his door. “In case anything changes with her brother,” 

Credence frowned. “But we’ll be seeing Mr. Graves tomorrow morning?” Credence said. “Won’t we?”

“Yes...” Newt said, turning towards the door that led to the enclosure with his creatures. He pulled the door open and strode through, and Credence followed. “About that. I’m not sure it’s an entirely good idea for us to keep going every day...” 

After saying this, Newt became very busy gathering feeding supplies, pushing several burlap sacks into Credence’s arms. Credence followed him out to the enclosure, which was just as breathtaking and amazing as it had been the day before.

“Why do you—” Credence broke off, setting the heavy sacks down on the ground as Newt began to feed to the Mooncalves. “Why do you say that?” 

For a moment, Newt didn’t answer. “It can’t be easy...” he said eventually, watching the Mooncalves bob for their pellets. “To love someone, and for them to refuse to believe you’re even alive.”

Credence didn’t understand. “No...” he said slowly. “It’s not easy.” 

“I saw the look on your face when Graves spoke as if you weren’t there… as if you were another one of Grindlewald’s tricks,” Newt said, glancing over at him. “You looked heartbroken, Credence… and I’m sorry, but a broken heart is a dangerous one.” 

Now Credence began to see where Newt was going. “You’re afraid if he upsets me enough, I’ll turn into the Obscurus again.” He said. The look on Newt’s face told him he was correct. Credence opened his mouth, wanting to argue or protest, but knew there was nothing he could say. Newt was right, of course. Whatever the monster inside of him was, it was clearly tied to his emotions… and how long did he have before he couldn’t take it anymore? 

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t see him, shouldn’t help him recover,” Newt went on. “But perhaps everyday isn’t the best idea. At least, not until we have a better idea of what’s happening.” 

Feeling miserable, Credence took a seat on a nearby log. “I came here for him...” He said quietly. “So that he wouldn’t be alone.” 

“He isn’t,” Newt said, walking over with his hands in his pockets. “He has his sister. He will have you, as well. Just not every day.” 

Credence shook his head. “He thinks I’m trying to torture him,” he muttered. “He thinks I’m all in his head. What if he doesn’t get better? What if I came all this way for a man who thinks I’m dead?” 

Newt really didn’t answer this time, instead choosing to preoccupy himself with feeding the occamy. Credence supposed it was his promise to never lie to him that kept him silent. He could not tell Credence Graves would get better, that he would one day know Credence was real and alive, because no one could say for certain that was true. 

 

***

 

The next morning, as Credence and Newt sat having a quiet breakfast, a small grey owl fluttered onto Newt’s windowsill, with  letter wrapped around its ankle. Newt took the letter and read it quickly, then passed it to Credence. It was from Penelope. Apparently the healers at St. Mungos decided that Mr. Graves was well enough to leave the hospital, and she was taking him back to her apartment to continue caring for him there. 

“Oh...” Credence said, unsure how to feel. “I guess that’s good. He’ll probably be happier there, I don’t think he liked the hospital much.” 

Newt took the note back and turned it over, writing on the other side. He brought that and a piece of toast over to the owl, who happily scarfed the toast down as Newt tied the note back to her leg.  Once the note was secure, the owl took off back out the window. 

“What did you write?” Credence asked, as Newt sat back down. 

“I said we would come visit in a few days time, maybe next week.” Newt replied. “And asked if she could please drop your clothes off at some point before that.” 

Credence nodded. “Right,” he said. That was a practical reply. A week wasn’t a long time to go without seeing Mr. Graves, surely Credence would manage just fine. Afterall, it was important he keep dangerous emotions to a minimum, and focus on learning how to get the monster out of hm. Seeing Graves could wait. 

Across the table, Newt sighed deeply into his orange juice. “Tomorrow works as well,” He mumbled, opening up a newspaper. 

Credence sat straight. “Really?” He asked.

Newt nodded. “It seems you’ll be miserable with our without Graves,” he said. “At least when he makes you miserable, you’ll be happier about it.” 

Although he did not understand Newt’s logic, he decided not to question it. 


	19. Chapter 19

In the morning, after all of Newt’s creatures had been fed and tended to, Newt and Credence went out into the field that surrounded Newt’s cottage, and began to work on Credence’s obscurus problem. 

“Now, Credence,” Newt said, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Do you know what an obscurus is?” 

Credence shrugged. “A manifestation of my suppressed magic?” He said, reciting what he’d heard others say. 

“Well, yes, but do you know what that means?” Newt pressed. 

Credence shrugged again. “Not entirely, no,” 

“The first thing you have to understand about an obscurus is that it’s a part of you,” Newt said. Credence didn’t much like the sound of that. “It’s  _ your  _ power, your magic. And all like magic, it’s neither inherently evil nor inherently good.”

Frowning, Credence thought about the obscurus bursting out, killing the Senator, killing Mary-Lou and Chastity. To him that seemed reasonably evil. 

“The obscurus is dangerous, that much is true,” Newt went on. “But it’s not evil in the sense that it doesn’t  _ want  _ to hurt people. It doesn’t want anything, it’s doesn’t think or feel the way we do. What it does is manifest  _ your  _ emotions, your feelings. You feel supressed, angered, enraged. You keep all of those things, including your magic, bottled up. The obscurus is all of that rage and magic refusing to be kept in any longer. And that’s what makes it so dangerous, because by definition, it cannot be controlled.”

Credence blinked. “So… what do I do?” He thought the point of this was so he could learn to control it. If he couldn’t, what was the point? 

“I used to think the way to cure an obscurus was to control it, subdue it, separate it from the host,” Newt explained. “But now I think that’s wrong. Like I said, it’s a part of you. Separating it can’t benefit either party. The trick, I now believe, is to embrace it.”

“Embrace the obscurus?” Credence repeated, sure Newt had lost his mind. 

“Embrace yourself, Credence,” Newt said. “Your magic, your anger. All of it. An obscurus is born from suppressed magic, from denying your true self. You need to embrace everything you’ve been pushing down.” 

“Okay...” Credence said slowly. “How do I do that?”

“Oh, I’ve no idea,” Newt said, pulling out his wand. “But it should be rather interesting to find out.”

Newt’s first plan was to try and get Credence to manifest his magic in a way that wasn’t a big murderous cloud. And apparently, the way most young wizards and witches manifested their first signs of magic were in situations of high stress, anger or fear. 

“Newt, I don’t think this is—” Credence ducked out of the way as another bright blue ball of energy tried to take his head off. “Working!”

“Well, of course it isn’t,” Newt called back, conjuring yet another energy ball with his wand. “You keep dodging them. You need to either let them hit you, or use your magic to stop it!” 

Credence could not help feeling this was an extremely flawed plan. “But I can’t— _ oof! _ ” The next energy ball hit him square in the chest, sending him flying backwards onto the grass. He lay back, looking up at the cloudless sky. Newt suddenly appeared over him, and offered him his hand. “I can’t do magic,” he finished, getting to his feet.

“You can,” Newt said. “You just need the right motivation.” He frowned. “Proper tools would likely help as well… perhaps a trip to Ollivanders...”

Before Credence could ask what Ollivanders was, there was a noise like a cracking whip and Penelope appeared in front of them. 

“Afternoon, darling,” she said, greeting Credence with a small kiss on the cheek. “I just came to drop by your clothes, they’re all fixed up for you.” She handed him a small shopping bag. “They’re all in there.”

Taking the bag, Credence decided better than to ask how all of the clothes they’d bought could possibly fit into that small bag. “Thank you,” he said. “How’s… how’s he doing?” 

Penelope considered this for a moment. “Better, I’m going to say,” She said. “Not perfect, but better. He still has a bit of a hard time telling what’s real and what’s leftover magic in his head, but I think he’s improving.”

“We’d like to stop by and see him later, if you wouldn’t mind,” Newt said, tucking his wand into his waistcoat pocket. 

Penelope looked surprised. “What happened to next week?”

Newt shrugged. “A short visit couldn’t hurt,” he said. 

She looked pleased. “Well, good,” she said. “I know Percy is giving you an awfully hard time, but I do think seeing you helps.” She told Credence. “Well, I should get back to him.”

Penelope said goodbye, and with another  _ crack  _ she was gone. 

Credence looked to Newt, wondering if he was going to start lobbing balls of energy at him again. 

“Let’s go have some lunch,” Newt said, striding towards the cottage. “I think you could use a break.”

Feeling grateful, Credence picked up his clothing bag and followed him inside. 

After lunch, Credence was relieved to find that Newt’s next plan for helping him embrace the obscurus was talking. 

“What do you remember of your life before Mary-Lou Barebone took you in?” Newt asked. They were in the enclosure where he kept his creatures, and Newt was sitting on a log, petting the head of a mooncalf, who looked more than delighted to be receiving the attention.

“Not much,” Credence told him. “I was little, maybe five or six… but it’s all a blur. I can’t even remember what my other name was.” 

“What about your parents?” Newt pressed. “Did you ever try asking Mary-Lou about them?” 

Credence nodded. “Once, when I was about ten or so. I asked Mary-Lou how they died.” 

“What did she say?” 

“That it was an accident in one the newer types of automobiles, and that I shouldn’t ask questions,” Credence said. “She hated when I asked questions.” Somehow he’d always known that hadn’t been the truth, although he’d never known how or why. 

Newt shook his head. “And that’s the only thing she ever told you about either of your parents?” 

Credence opened his mouth to say  _ yes,  _ but something came back to him suddenly. The night Mary-Lou had died, she had said something… something about his mother. 

_ “Your mother was a wicked, unnatural woman!” _

“My mother… was a wicked, unnatural woman...” Credence said slowly. “That’s what Mary-Lou said… right before she died.” Credence swallowed. “Before I killed her.” Newt looked at him. “Do you think… do you think that means she was a witch?” 

“It’s possible,” Newt said, standing up. “Probable, in fact. Is there anything else you remember?”

Searching his memory, Credence thought there might have been something else there. A promise he had made in the past, to someone whose face he could not recall. It was right there, just on the edge of his mind but he couldn’t quite see it, couldn’t remember it. The harder he tried, the more it slipped away. 

“No,” he said. “That’s all.”

 

***

 

Credence fidgeted with the hem of his new jacket as they stood outside Penelope’s apartment, waiting to be let in. There was a flurry of emotions flitting around his head and it was making him somewhat dizzy. Part of him was excited to be seeing Mr. Graves, hopeful that he would finally acknowledge that Credence was alive and in front of him… another part of him was dreading to find Graves still thought him dead. 

“Whenever you want to leave, just bring up Dougal in conversation and I’ll say we have to be getting home, alright?” Newt said quietly. Credence nodded. 

A moment later the door was pulled open and Penelope greeted them, ushering them into her apartment. “Come on, come in,” she said. “Percy’s just in the living room. He likes my window, I think it calms him.”

They entered the apartment and found Graves in a striped grey and green robe, sitting in an armchair in front of the window. He was staring out at it with a glazed look in his eye. Credence noticed that he had shaved and trimmed his hair, and seemed to be looking a little less pale than the last time he’d seen him. 

Penelope gave him an encouraging nod, and Credence stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Hello, Mr. Graves...” He said quietly. 

It took Graves a moment to process that someone had spoken to him. Eventually the far away look faded from his eyes and he came back to earth, and looked at Credence. He did not appear pleased to see him.

“Well, now he’s not even trying,” Graves said, looking Credence up and down. “The real Credence never dressed so nicely, he only ever wore the same ugly suit.” He turned away. “Honestly...”

Graves’ words stung, but Credence tried not to let it show. Penelope came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Percy, what if this  _ is  _ the real Credence, and you’ve just insulted him like that?” She suggested. Graves shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Wouldn’t you feel pretty terrible about that?”

“If he was real...” Graves muttered. “He’s not.”

“I wish you would believe me, Mr. Graves,” Credence said sadly. Mr. Graves continued to stare out the window. “I wish you’d look at me, like you used to.”

He turned away, afraid that he might be overtaken by tears if he looked at him any longer. Penelope put her arm around him. 

“He’ll come around,” she promised once more. “Any day now.” She smiled at him, and he tried to smile back. “Credence, could you do me a favour? There’s a book I’ve been meaning to get for you, down at Flourish and Blotts. I want you to start reading it before you begin your apprenticeship. It’s called ‘A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.’ Would you mind taking a quick trip to the alley and getting it?” She glanced at Newt. “I want to have a word with Mr. Scamander.” 

“Sure...” Credence said, looking between Penelope and Newt. He wondered what she wanted to talk to him about. 

Penelope told him how to get to Diagon Alley from her apartment, and gave him a few wizard coins to buy the book. He was halfway there when he remembered the important detail that you needed  _ magic  _ to get into the alley, and he had none. 

At the back of the Leaky Cauldron, Credence stared at the brick wall in front of him, willing it open. He tried tapping the bricks the way Penelope had, with a stick he found on the ground. It did not have the same effect. He went up the wall and very quietly, asked it to please open for him. 

The wall remained solid. 

Just as he was thinking he should give up, a harried looking witch holding the hands of two small children stumbled into the alley with him. 

“Hold on, hold on… we’ll be there in a moment...” The witch muttered, letting go of one child’s hand to pull out her wand. “‘Scuse me, sorry,” she muttered to Credence as they pushed past him. She tapped the bricks quickly, and Credence breathed a sigh of relief as the bricks began to shift and move, forming the entrance to Diagon Alley. 

The witch and her children went through the newly made opening, and Credence quickly followed. 

Once inside the alleyway, it was fairly easy for Credence to find Flourish and Blotts, as he remembered looking at the interesting display in the window. Today the display was different, showcasing a book called “ALCHEMY FOR BEGINNERS” which was being held up in the window by a large suit of armor. Credence looked at it with interest for a moment, then entered the store. 

Besides the wizard behind the cash register, the store was entirely empty. It was a wide, expansive space, but was crammed from floor to ceiling with books of every size, shape and colour. Some books were moving by themselves through the air, back and forth from the cash register to their shelves. Every now and then the wizard at the register would grab one, stamp it and put it on a pile next to him.  

Credence looked around for a while, trying to find the book Penelope had sent him for. Unfortunately there seemed to be very little organization to the books--they weren’t in alphabetical order, and they didn’t follow the dewey decimal system. They didn’t seem to be grouped by genre or subject, or even grouped with all the copies of one book together.

Perplexed, Credence stared at the wall of books before him, and wondered what he was going to do. 

“It’s easier to just summon it,” A voice behind him said.

Credence turned around and found the wizard from the register standing behind him. He was young looking, probably around Credence’s age, and impossibly skinny. His messy blond hair fell into his eyes, and he smiled crookedly at Credence, who tried to pretend he didn’t notice that the wizard was also very good looking.

“Huh?” Credence said, making yet another charming and witty first impression. 

“The book you’re looking for, there’s no point in searching for it, you’ll go mad,” The wizard explained. “Just summon it. Here, what book are you trying to find?” 

“A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi,” Credence told him. 

The wizard held up his hand, and from across the room Credence saw a large green book zoom off the shelf, and head straight for the wizard, who caught it easily and handed it over to Credence. “See?” He said. “Much simpler.”

“Oh,” Credence said. “Thank you.” 

The wizard smiled. “You’re most welcome,” He said.”When you’re ready to pay, I’ll be just over there.”

Credence stared after him, holding onto his book. After a moment of staring, he realized he should probably get going, and moved up to the register. When he went to pay, and the wizard told him the price, Credence pulled out the coins Penelope had given him and realized he had no idea what they meant. 

“Um...” He looked down at them, trying to decipher their value.

“Need some help?” The wizard asked. Credence nodded, his face slightly pink. “Don’t worry about it, we get tourists in here all the time. You’re American, right?” He asked. 

“Oh… yes,” Credence said. 

“That’s neat, what’s it like there?” He asked. “I’ve always wanted to go. I’m Barrett, by the way.”

“Credence,” Credence mumbled. He tried to think of something interesting to say about America. “It’s… different, over there.” 

Barrett nodded. “I’ll bet. Here, hold out your hand.” He said. Credence lifted the hand that held the coins he’d been given, and Barrett put his own hand on Credence’s, holding it steady. “Here you need a few of these… and two of these...” He said, picking up the coins. “And then I give you two of these little ones back,” He said, reaching into the register and pulling out two small coins. Barret smiled. “And you’re done.”

“Thanks… thank you...” Credence muttered, stuffing the coins back into his pocket. 

“Oh, my pleasure,” Barrett said, giving him another crooked smile. “Come back soon, alright? It gets really dull around here during the day.” 

Credence nodded, and mumbled something that he later realized was not an actual word. Once outside the door, Credence breathed in deeply, wondering why he had such a tight feeling in his chest. Someone, a stranger, had been nice to him. It was always an odd experience when that happened, rare as it was. He wondered if it had something to do with his new clothing. Even Graves had said, he’d always worn that ugly old suit before.. Maybe people were just nicer when you dressed nice. 

Whatever the reason, meeting Barrett had made Credence feel strangely light. With a smile on his face, and a small skip in his step, Credence headed back to Penelope’s apartment. 


	20. Chapter 20

Credence looked at himself in the mirror, smoothing the front of his shirt down. He had chosen his favourite outfit that he and Penelope had bought several weeks ago. It was a black suit jacket, nice and sleek and well fitting. The vest underneath was a deep purple, and it was made of a light satiny material that shone in bright lighting. He still wasn't too much a fan of his own appearance-- although his hair was slowly growing out--but in this suit, he thought it was too bad.

He was going to see Mr. Graves today, for the first time in almost a month. He was nervous, but excited… But nervous. The last time he'd seen him, Graves still refused to accept that he wasn't dead, that he was alive and real and standing in front of him. Would it be any different this time? Penelope promised she was working on it, telling Graves about him and how well he was doing as her apprentice. She insisted he was coming around, but Penelope couldn't always be trusted to give the most reliable information. She had a tendency to deliver the best version of the news, instead of the more accurate. He appreciated the thought, but it still meant he didn't know what to expect.

Despite her tendency to look towards the brighter side of things, it had been under Penelope's instruction that they had stayed away for so long. She had apparrated in one day, looking tired and dishevelled. Apparently Graves was going through a rough patch, having awoken in the middle of the night gripped with the horrible idea that Grindlewald had escaped, and was coming after him again. Newt sent word to Tina immediately, and the next day she wrote back that Grindlewald was still in his cell in Macusa, and was being transported to Azkaban any day now.

Apparently the word of his former co-worker did nothing to soothe his panic, and Penelope had cautioned they should wait a little before coming around. And so they had waited, and an entire month had gone by without even a glimpse of Mr. Graves.

It had, however, been an interesting month. Tough, for a variety of reasons. Newt had insisted on trying to bring about his magic with what he called “gut reactions to fear or stress” but so far Credence’s gut reactions mostly involved elbowing Newt in the face when he snuck up behind him and tried to scare the magic out of him. He’d given up on this approach, thankfully, after two weeks. He told Credence that he decided positive reinforcement might be a better method, but Credence suspected he had also been elbowed in the face one too many times.

He had also started his apprenticeship with Penelope. Mostly he enjoyed this, as learning about the plants and how to care for him was fairly interesting. He had been given a lot of reading to do, which meant he'd seen Barret at Flourish and Blotts more than a few times. Newt had shown him how to use something called floo powder to travel directly into the alley, so he didn't need to use a wand to get in by the bricked up entrance.

Barret was something of an oddity to Credence, as every time he went in the boy was friendly and chatted to Credence, telling him about the different books they'd gotten in that day, or asking Credence what he needed so many books on plants for. He smiled at Credence and as of yet had not called him any sort of terrible name or told him to get the hell out of his sight. Credence had explained the confusing situation to Newt, who suggested that perhaps Credence had made what people referred to as a friend.

The suggestion almost knocked Credence off his feet.

Was it possible? Did he have a friend in Barret? He had only met him a few times, but he was nice to him each time and Credence enjoyed being in his presence… Did that make them friends? It occurred to Credence, that for all his pining for friendship, he never actually figured out what having a friend would entail.

Maybe this was it.

* * *

 

They arrived at the apartment belonging to Penelope Graves in the early afternoon, and from the moment she let them in it was evident that she was excited for the company. She hugged Credence and shook Newt’s hand (they weren't on hugging terms) and ushered them into the room. Just as he had been last time Credence had seen them, Graves was sitting facing the window, staring out at the magical scene it depicted with vacant eyes.

“Percy, look, we have visitors,” Penelope chirped. When he gave no indication of acknowledging them, she sighed and waved her wand in his direction. The chair he was sitting in turned itself around, forcing Graves to face them. He looked highly annoyed.

“Penny, I was thinking,” He grumbled, looking anywhere but Credence. “You shouldn't have disturbed me.”

“You're always thinking, Percy,” Penelope said, rolling her eyes, “And it's always been my opinion that a little less might do you some good.”

They took seats in the living room and Penelope conjured them over some tea, and light fluffy biscuits which she magically baked in front of them. They smelled so good even Graves had one, though seemed to be trying to remain unhappy about it.

The four of them sat in silence for a moment, drinking their tea. Credence held onto his cup tightly, and tried to muster a sentence. “Mr. Graves… How are you?” He asked cautiously.

Graves scoffed. “Terrible honestly,” He muttered, sipping his tea. “There's a madman on the loose, and no one seems to care. If he comes here, I'm in no shape to fight him… ” He shook his head.

Credence said nothing in response. For the first time since Graves had been attacked, he had spoken to Credence. Really spoken to him, not as if he was a figment in his mind or a conjuring of Grindlewalds, but a real actual person.

Credence could have cried.

Newt and Penelope seemed to recognize the gravity of what had just happened, and exchanged looks.

“Newt, could you… I just need to speak with you, alone again. Can you come with me to the roof?” She asked. Newt looked confused for a moment, and seemed to be about to ask why when Penelope jerked her head to her brother and gave him a look. He seemed to get it then, and the two apparrated away,

Graves shook his head again. “That was subtle,” he muttered. “But Penelope's always been about as subtle as a Devils Snare so that's to be expected.”

Credence nodded, pleased that someone had finally said something about the magical world that he was able to understand. From reading 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi Credence knew that Devils Snare was a violent plant known for its unrelenting grasp and the way it strangled its victims to death.

Graves looked away. “She tells me she's given you a job, helping with her plants at St. Mingus?”

“St. Mungos,” Credence corrected, but he realized Graves probably knew that. “Yes… She gave me a job.”

“And you like it?” Graves asked.

Credence nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Its interesting, learning about all this magic stuff… I like it.”

Graves nodded. He was quiet for a few minutes, and Credence wondered if he should say something else, or stay quiet. His heart was beating quickly in his chest, and he wasn't sure what to do. He was elated to be having a conversation with Graves, but terrified that at any moment he could say the wrong thing and Graves would go back to thinking he was dead.

After several minutes had passed in silence, Graves spoke again, quietly. “Im still not sure you're real...” He said, barely more than whispering. He glanced at Credence, and then away again. “I want you to be real… I want it so badly it scares me sometimes… But that's why I can't trust it. Because I want it so much.”

Credence nodded. ”Is there… Something I can do?” He asked slowly. “Someway I can prove it, maybe..”

Graves shook his head. “Ive tried thinking of that already… Something you could tell me, or say or do that would prove you were the real Credence, and not something he put into my head to torture me, make me think I could have things I couldn't have….” He swallowed. “There's not really anything. See if you tell me something only Credence could have known, but it was something I knew too… Then it's no good. Because he was in my head, see? So if I know it, then he would know it too.”

Credence considered this. What Graves was saying made a strange sort of sense, and he understood the dilemma he was in. “What if I told you something that was true, that only I know… But you didn't?”

Frowning, Graves glanced at him again. “Something true that you know that I don't?” He repeated. Credence nodded. “That might work… What sort of thing could you tell me?”

Credence bit his lip. “I hadn't thought that far ahead,” He confessed. He couldn't just say anything- there was a lot of things that Credence knew that Graves didn't, like that Modesty had a birthmark shaped like a duck on her left foot or that once as a child Credence had eaten a whole bar of soap just to see what it tasted like (bad). But none of those things would prove to Graves that he was real, that he wasn't in his dead and he was alive and in front of him. But what would?

Graves nodded. “Well… Let me know if you think of something.” He said.

Credence promised he would. 


	21. Chapter 21

It had never before been said that Credence Barebone was anything resembling an optimist. At a young age he had resigned himself to general misery, and a life where things were at their best trite and mundane, and at their worst painful and frightening. 

And so, when he began to feel hopeful about the way things were going, it was an exceptionally foreign feeling to him. Unfamiliar as it was, he couldn't say he minded it. 

Mr. Graves had finally begun to at least acknowledge the possibility that Credence was alive. He had spoken to him, and they had a conversation--albeit a very short one. And that wasn't all. His apprenticeship with Penelope was going well, and he was learning a lot about all sorts of fascinating species of plants. And he was helping Newt out with his creatures too, learning all about them and the magical world in general. It was fascinating, and Credence found himself visiting Barret at the book store on his own time, simply to learn even more about the wonderful world he had found himself in. 

But more than all of that, as truly happy as it made him, Credence had realized something else; for the first time in his life, he was free. Beyond his obligations to Penelope, and the time he spent with Newt, he could go where he wanted and do what he liked. There was no Mary-Lou waiting to beat him bloody if he stayed out too long, not anymore. He could speak to who he wanted to, wear what he liked and stay out as late as he wanted (which typically was not all that late but it was still nice to have the option). 

It was an overwhelming feeling, but a wonderful one at the same time. He was free, truly free and for the first time since he could remember, he was hopeful. Perhaps the future would be kind to him, for once.

* * *

 

It was a Wednesday afternoon when Newt received his post, brought to him by one of his several owls. The one that brought it today was a snowy owl with inky black eyes that Newt called Truffles. 

Credence could tell Newt had received something important the moment he took the mail from Truffles. His eye lit up and he left the other envelopes on the table, focusing solely on one of them. “He answered...” Newt murmured, tearing open the letter. He read it quickly, his expression suggesting it was good news. When he was finished, he lifted his head and looked around the room. “Goodness, we'll have to clean this place up...” 

“Who's the letter from?” Credence asked. “Someone coming to visit?

Newt nodded, and took a seat across from him at the table. “I wrote to an old friend of mine, and told him about you, Credence,” Newt said. The look on Credence's face must have betrayed the horror he felt when Newt said that. “He's absolutely trustworthy Credence, please don't worry. He says he thinks he can help. He wants to meet you.” 

Credence frowned. “Who is he?” 

“His name,” Newt said. “Is Albus Dumbledore. He’s a teacher at Hogwarts, the school for magic here.”

“There's a school for magic?” Credence asked. He felt a strange pang, thinking about everything he would have been able to learn at a school like that. The only school he'd ever been to was Mary-Lou's homeschooling lessons, and he doubted the two would have been similar experiences.

Newt nodded. “I went there myself… For a while,” he said. “But with Professor Dumbledore’s help, I’m sure we'll be able to make sure you're safe from the Obscurcus forever.”

“When is he coming?” Credence asked. 

“His letter said he'd be here tomorrow, permitting we want his company,” Newt smiled. “I'll write back and tell him we do--” He paused. “Unless you're not comfortable with it. I apologize, Credence, I should have asked first.” 

“It's fine,” Credence said, shaking his head. “If you think he can help, and we can trust him…Tell him to come.”

Newt nodded, and began to write his reply.    
  


* * *

That afternoon Credence was assisting Penelope at St. Mungos. It was a slow day, and although he was supposed to be concentrating on feeding the Advartasingus Alessia its lunch, his mind had wandered over to Albus Dumbledore. 

“Not quite so much, Credence,” Penelope cautioned from across the room. “She just needs a light sprinkling of the avergara essence, not a shower.”

“Sorry,” Credence said, ceasing to pour the food. The plant shuttered angrily, obviously disagreeing with Penelope's assertion that it did not need more. He glanced over to Penelope, wondering if she would know anything about the man who was supposed to help him. “Penelope, can I ask you--”

“Credence, I wanted to run something by you--” Penelope began, at the exact same moment. She broke off. “You go first.”

“Are you sure?” Credence asked. 

She nodded, waving her hand dismissively. “Mine’s hardly important. Go on, ask away,”

Credence paused. “Do you know who Albus Dumbledore is?” He asked, 

Penelope looked slightly surprised. “Well, of course! I mean, only by reputation, I've never met the man.”

“And what is it?” Credence asked. “His reputation, I mean,”

Penelope thought about this for a moment. She picked up a bottle of Light-Serum and began to spray the small Bumbletree sitting near by. The plant buzzed happily as its yellow leaves soaked up the light. “Supposedly he's wonderful,” she said. “He's reputed to be an absolute genius, but I don't think that's why everyone raves about him like they do. The way people talk about him, the man must be a saint.” 

Credence nodded. He felt better, but still not completely at ease. People's reputations could be misleading, he knew. All of the kids that his mother fed back home had thought her to be kind and generous, but he knew the truth. There had not been a kind bone in that woman's body. But her reputation would have said otherwise.

Still, hopefully this would not prove true for Albus Dumbledore. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Credence asked. 

Penelope smiled, and put down the Light-Serum. She turned to Credence. “I think we should all go out.” She said. It was obvious she was excited about this idea. “You and I, Percy and Newt. I think we should all go out tonight, on the town. Take a break from everything that's going on and have some fun.” 

“Go out?” Credence repeated. Penelope nodded. ”And do what?” 

“Well, I had a few idea… There's a muggle magic show thats the talk of London, supposed to be incredibly real looking, I thought that could be fun.” 

Credence frowned. “A muggle magic show?” He asked, confused. “But… Why?” 

“Have you ever been to a muggle magic show?” She asked. Credence shook his head. “Well, they're delightful. There's absolutely nothing magical about them, it's really more like a science to them… They have all these tricks and deceptions, these terrifically convoluted way of performing the simplest of what they call magic… It's really great to watch.” 

“Is… Do you think Mr. Graves is well enough to go out?” Credence asked. He knew he was getting better, but it seemed like they would be pushing it by taking him out. 

Penelope nodded. “I think it would be good for him, actually. Might inspire him to rejoin the world of the living. All this being cooped up can't be healthy.” 

“Well, I'll ask Newt and see--” 

“You'll  _ tell  _ Newt,” Penelope corrected. “If you ask him, he'll say no.” 

Credence couldn't disagree, as Penelope was almost undoubtedly correct. 

“I'll tell Newt when I go home,” Credence amended. Penelope nodded, and went back to tending her plants. 

* * *

That night, Credence put on one of his more elegant suits (after agonizing for an hour over which one was the nicest) combed his hair neatly (in several different ways before deciding no amount of combing would make the slightest difference) and met Newt downstairs. Newt didn't appear to have put anymore effort into his appearance than usual, and looked as as he always did. The only difference, Credence noted, was that he was wearing a bow tie. 

Newt did not looked pleased when Credence entered the room, and Credence took a moment to remind himself that Newt hated going out, and was doing this as a favour to him. The look on his face most likely did  _ not  _ mean he hated Credence, and was probably not at this moment planning his revenge. 

Probably. 

Penelope's plan to “tell” Newt the plan for the evening had not gone over well, most likely because Credence had never really before told someone what to do. He had folded almost immediately, and wound up all but begging Newt to let them go. Newt had agreed, but still did not seem happy about it. 

“Ready?” Newt asked, holding out his arm. Credence nodded and took hold, and together they aparated away.   


They met up with Penelope and Mr. Graves on the corner of a busy muggle street in London. Penelope looked quite lovely in a deep purple dress and black jacket, with her hair up in a sort of loose bun. She smiled at Credence and told him he looked handsome, and he figured he gave some sort of response back, but he wasn't entirely sure. Graves was there, in a suit and tie, his hair brushed and his appearance well manicured. He looked just like his old self, strong and confident and beautiful, and the sight of him stopped Credence cold. 

Graves’ eyes brushed over Credence for a moment, before he glanced away. He mumbled something, too quiet for Credence to hear. Before he could ask what had been said, Graves pulled out a pocket watch and loudly announced they should probably go in, as the show would be starting soon. When he strode away, Penelope leaned over to whisper in Credence's ear. 

“He said you like nice,” Penelope said, giving him a smile. Credence smiled back, his face flushing. He wished he had something back to Graves, something about how he didn't just look like  _ nice,  _ but looked like everything Credence had ever longed for. He looked like magic. 

It's possible that may have been a bit much, so a part of Credence thought it may have been better that he had said nothing. 

The three of them followed after Mr. Graves, and entered the theatre. Credence's eyes widened as they went in, taking in the beautiful lobby. He'd never been in a building so nice before. Everything was gold and flashy, with deep red curtains across the walls and a huge marble staircase that led into the theatre. 

“Not bad for muggles, hmm?” Penelope asked as they walked across the room. 

Newt nodded. “It's not terrible,” He agreed. Penelope rolled her eyes. 

Up the stairs and inside the theatre, Graves was waiting for them to take their seats. The seats were red and plush, and Credence felt a strange sense of excitement grow in his chest as he took a seat. He'd never seen a magic show before--although he had of course seen real magic now--but still, the excitement persisted. He was out on the town with people who genuinely seemed to like him, he was in a beautiful theatre about to watch a show… And Mr. Graves was here, sitting next to him and smelling just as good as Credence remembered. He hadn't thought it would be possible to be so happy. 

The lights in the theatre dimmed, and a loud voice announced the magician, who called himself The Incredible Hubert. A flash of light and a loud  _ bang  _ sounded, making Credence jump. His heart raced, but he knew it was just pretend and it took less than a minute for him to calm down. Next to him, however, he couldn't help but notice Mr. Graves looking quite uncomfortable. 

After the smoke on stage faded, a man stood where the flash of light had been and the crowd clapped. The show had begun. 

Muggle magic was just as Penelope had said: nothing at all like real magic, but entertaining none the less.

As the show went on, it was clear that entertaining as it was, Mr. Graves was not enjoying it at all. He jumped at the flashes of light and loud  _ bangs  _ that often accompanied them. He squirmed when the lights were turned down, he looked panicked when the crowds rose to their feet in applause. 

After a series of particularly daring tricks and a flashy accompanying light show, the lights were put back up and everyone began to leave their seats. Credence thought the show was over, and although he had enjoyed it, he was relieved for Mr. Graves. 

“Credence, if you want to get some snacks or something now is the time,” Penelope said, standing up. Credence frowned. “The show isn't over, it's only the intermission. A sort of break, between acts.” 

“Oh,” Credence said, his face falling as he looked at Mr. Graves. “You mean there's more?”

Penelope raised her eyebrows. “Everything alright?” She asked. 

Credence hesitated. “I just.. I don't feel so great. The lights, and the noises… It's kind of...” He trailed off, and tried to look appropriately ill. 

Penelope looked distressed. “I'm sorry Credence, I didn't realize the show would be so jarring. We don't need to stay for the second act, if you like.” She looked at Newt and Mr. Graves. “Right?” 

Newt nodded, and Mr. Graves was already out of his seat and heading to the door. 

The night was cool as they left the theatre, but the sky was clear and there was a pleasant breeze. Penelope asked Credence if some fresh air and a walk might help clear his head, and he agreed it would. They set off down the streets, Credence and Mr. Graves falling back together while Penelope and Newt took the lead. 

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and Credence tried not to feel too sorry that he hadn't got to see the rest of the show. 

“Thank you, Credence,” Mr. Graves said quietly. 

Credence looked up “Hmm? For what?” 

“For asking to leave,” Graves said. “I saw you, you were enjoying it. You didn't want to leave.” 

“...but you did,” Credence said. 

Graves nodded, and let out a long sigh. “After everything that happened… Nothing is the same. Everything seems menacing now, everything is out to get me. Large crowds, bright lights and loud noises… The dark… Even as a child, these things never scared me. Now I can barely watch a no-maj pretend to cut someone in half without panicking.” He shook his head. “Pathetic, I know.” 

“No, it's not.” Credence said. “Mr. Graves, I've been afraid of big crowds and loud noises and the dark my whole life. Everything makes me panic, everything scares me. It's just… The way it is. Nothings even happened to me to cause it.”

Graves looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “I wouldn't say nothing has happened to you, Credence,” he said softly. 

Credence supposed that was true. Rather a lot had happened to him, actually. “It's not pathetic.” He went on. “It's just how it is.” 

Graves nodded. “I wish I could believe you,” He looked straight ahead. “I wish I could believe  _ in  _ you.” 

They walked in silence some more, until Newt decided it was late and they should be getting back. They needed to prepare for the arrival of an important visitor, after all. 

Credence looked at Mr. Graves, preparing to say goodnight. “I thought of something,” He said quietly. Graves frowned. “Something that only I would know, that you don't. Something true.” 

“And what's that?” Graves asked softly. 

Credence paused. “That I love you,” he said simply.

And with nothing else to say, Credence took Newts arm and together they aparated home. 


	22. Chapter 22

Credence was in bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to pretend he wasn’t thinking about Mr. Graves. In this regard, he was failing terribly, since he had thought of little else since he’d left him. It had been a mistake, he was sure, to declare that he loved him and then vanish. That had not been the right way to tell him. Credence should have given the man a chance to respond, to process… but he’d been scared.

What if Mr. Graves reacted in a way Credence didn’t like. Surely he couldn’t blame him, after everything the man had been through. He had barely begun to believe Credence was real and now here he was saying he loved him? A negative reaction would have been totally understandable… but it also would have broken Credence’s heart.

And so he’d left.

Tap, tap, tap.

Credence frowned, wondering what that noise was. It sounded like a tapping on glass. He listened, but there was silence. Had he imagined it?

Tap, tap tap tap.

There it was again, faster this time. Credence sat up, and looked around the room. He jumped slightly, seeing a rock floating outside his window. As he looked at it, it gently tapped itself against the glass a few more times.

Credence stood up and went to the window, pulling it open. The rock floated slowly downwards, to where Mr. Graves stood outside, holding up his wand. It had only been a few hours since Credence had last seen him, but the sight of him still sent shivers down his spine. He was still wearing the suit he’d had on when they’d gone out, but he was no longer wearing a tie and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone. His hair was messy and his shirt was untucked, but his somewhat dishevelled appearance made him no less appealing.

“Mr. Graves...” Credence tried to keep his voice quiet, to not wake Newt, but at the same time make sure it was loud enough for Mr. Graves to hear him. The effect was a strange sort of yell-whisper that was neither quiet nor loud. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I come up?” Graves called, making no effort to be quiet. “Can we talk?”

Credence glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting to find a very annoyed Newt at his door, telling him to hush. But there was no one there, and so he turned back to Graves and nodded.

In an instant, Graves had disappeared from his spot on the ground and reappeared inside Credence’s room. Before Credence had a moment to repeat the question of what he was doing there, Graves spoke.

“Are you real?” He asked. Credence blinked, surprised not only at the question, but at the desperation in Graves’ voice as he asked it. Mr. Graves put his hand on Credence’s shoulders, gripping him firmly. “Credence, I… you need to tell me if you’re real or not.”

Credence looked at him, not knowing what to say. He had told Graves, as many others had, that he was real for months now. He hadn’t believed him. Why did it now seem so important for him to hear it? “Mr. Graves...”

“Credence,” Graves voice cracked slightly, and his shoulders slumped. He looked down, avoiding Credence’s eyes. He swallowed, and seemed to force himself to look back up. “If you tell me you’re real, I’ll believe you. Just please… please tell me the truth.”

Lifting his hand to touch his face, Credence looked Graves in the eye. “I’m real, Mr. Graves.” He said, trying to sound as reassuring as he could. “I’ve always been real, and I’m right here.”

For a split second, Credence thought he saw tears in Mr. Graves’ eyes, but he couldn’t have been sure because quite suddenly Graves was kissing him. His fingers were shoved in Credence’s hair and his body pressed flush against him, kissing him so hard and so quickly that Credence could barely catch his breath. But what did breathing matter? Credence would have given all of his breath up in an instant, if he could just spend his last moments like this, in the arms of the man he loved and who might one day be able to love him back.

“Credence,” Graves murmured over and over again as if it was a prayer. Credence wrapped his arms over Graves’ shoulders holding him tightly. For months all he’d wanted was for Graves to look at him, talk to him again. And now he was here, finally here Credence felt like his heart was going to burst. “Credence...”

“I’m here, Mr. Graves...” Credence mumbled. “I’m here, I promise...”

Graves slowed his mouth, letting his lips linger against Credence’s. A small moan escaped Credence’s lips, but he was too happy to be embarrassed. Graves smiled crookedly. “Credence, do you think...” He looked up at him, letting his eyes wander over Credence’s face. “That given everything that happened between us, it might be possible for you to call me Percival?”

“Oh,” Credence said. “Well… I guess so.” He said, pausing for a moment. “Percival,” He said, testing it out. “I can do that.”

Percival Graves smiled again, before leaning in to recapture Credence’s mouth. Credence wasn’t sure when it happened, but one moment they were standing in embrace and the next… somehow they were on his bed. Credence didn’t know who pulled who down, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it had been him who had initiated it.

Once, and only once, Credence had been bold in their relationship. He had thought for a brief moment that he could do something without facing consequences, and in that moment freedom had driven him to reach forward and take his very first kiss from Graves. But sanity had returned shortly, and after that he had been so timid, so shy. He had blushed over every touch, turned away at each caress… made each kiss so careful, so stiff.

There was no need for that anymore. He was different now, so different than the last time they’d been together. It was true he was still timid, still inexperienced and unsure… but he was no longer afraid, as he used to be. There were things in this world worth fearing, but Credence was sure that what he was doing with Percival was not one of them. This was something good, something right. Not a sin, but a blessing.

Credence had lost his night shirt, and was in the middle of hastily undoing Percival’s when it happened. He could feel Graves’s hands on his bare skin, running over him and lighting his blood on fire. It was boiling in his veins, making him sweat, making his face red. He pulled Graves towards him, wanting more, wanting everything… he’d never felt like this before, as if his chest was filled with something light and electric, something lifting him up towards the sky. For the first in his life, he was truly alive.

And that’s when he realized his hand was on fire.

Springing backward, Credence looked down at his right hand, which was engulfed in strange flames. He stared at it with wide eyes, unsure what to do or say. It looked and moved exactly like fire, but instead of being red-orange it was bright white, almost blinding to look at.

“Credence...” Percival said, looking with a somewhat alarmed expression at his hand. “Are you…” He floundered. “Does that hurt?”

Credence frowned, turning his hand over and admiring the glow. “No…” He said quietly. He could feel the warmth of the fire surrounding his hand, but it didn’t hurt. It tickled slightly, but the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “What is this?”

“I have no idea,” Percival murmured, looking at Credence’s flaming fist. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.” He looked at it, then slowly lifted his own hand to touch it. For a moment his fingers hesitated, then he pressed them gently against Credence’s. The fire grew, surrounding both their hands.

Credence smiled slowly. “It’s magic,” He said, feeling excitement growing in his chest. “I’m doing magic, this is… it’s magic!”

Graves smiled at him. “I take it this is a first?” He asked.

Credence nodded. “Unless you count turning into a horrible murdering cloud as magic,” He said. The memory of the obscurus came back to him, and slowly the fire withered and died. It was gone after a moment, and Credence felt somewhat deflated. He slumped back against the wall behind his bed.

Reality came back to him slowly, as his feelings of elation faded. What was he doing? What were they doing? For months Graves had barely been able to look at him. Wouldn't speak to him, wouldn't even entertain the possibility that he was alive, that he was real. And now that he had finally begun to believe he was, Credence was just immediately ready to just… Well…

Beyond that, there was also Graves himself to consider. He was still recovering, still not well… All the more reason to go slowly, ease back into regaining the relationship they'd had. However ready Credence was to jump head first, he needed to be mindful of Percivals needs. He had been through so much, and he was still just beginning to come back to him… He could not rush it.

“I'm sorry,” Credence murmured, burying his head in his hands. “I shouldn't have done that...”

“Done what?”

“Kissed you...” Credence said, lifting his head. “It wasn't right.”

A smile touched Percival’s face. “I believe I kissed you, Credence,” He said.

”Oh,” Credence paused. “Still… You're not well, Mister-- Percival. We can't… We shouldn't do this.”

Percival sighed, and leaned back on the wall next to Credence. “You're probably right,” He sounded reluctant, even as he agreed. “With the way I've been for the last.. God, it's been months hasn't it?” He sat up again and looked at Credence, taking his hand, ”I'm so sorry, Credence,” He said. “For doubting you… For treating you like I have. I can't imagine what that was like.”

Credence glanced away. “It's fine,” He said quietly.

“You don't need to pretend it's fine, Credence,” Percival said. “I know it's not. I know I hurt you and I'm so terrifically sorry,.. ” He swallowed. “If you'll allow me to make it up to you….”

“There’s nothing to make up,” Credence said, looking back at Graves. “You're right, I did lie a moment ago… These past few months, it's been terrible having you thinking I was dead, that I wasn't real. It's been hard.” He leaned in and squeezed Percivals hand. “But that is not your fault, and I haven't blamed you for a second. Someone hurt you, and that's something they did, not you. This wasn't your fault.”

Now it was Graves who looked away. “I should have been stronger… I should have been able to fight him.”

Credence wasn't sure if he was referring to fighting Grindlewald when he'd attacked him and stolen his identity, or to these last few months when the Wizards dark magic had lingered in his head. Either way, Credence found the statement both very sad and very ridiculous.

“Percival...” Credence said, drawing the mans face back towards his with his hand. “Just because someone hurt you… It doesn't mean you were weak. If I've learned anything from what I've gone through, it's that it's not how they push you down that tells you who you are, but it's the way you get back up. That's what strength is.”

Percival smiled again, but it was sad this time. “Then you must be strongest person this world has ever seen,” he said.

“I...” Credence hesitated. “Im trying.” He said. “Newt and Penelope, they're helping me. And I write to Queenie and Tina all the time, and they help too. So if I have any strength in me at all, I think I wouldn't have found it without them.” He looked at Percival. “They helped me find my strength… And now I'm gonna help you find yours again.”

He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against Percivals mouth.

“Thank you...” Percival murmured, staring down at Credence's lips. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet Credence's. ”What you said earlier tonight, after the show...”

“I don't expect you to say it back,” Credence rushed. “But... I meant it.”

Graves nodded. “I know,” He said. “I know you did… ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you all for the reviews on the last chapter! Every review I get honestly means so damn much to me, so thank you to everyone who left one.


	23. Chapter 23

When Credence awoke in the morning, it was to a loud and somewhat angry whistling noise, similar to that of a kettle. Looking around for the source of the noise, he found a piece of paper on his bedside table, which was shaking violently and appeared to be the one making the tea kettle noise. The moment he picked it up, the paper went still and the noise ceased. Unfolding it, he found it to be a note from Newt. The note told him that Newt had come in to wake him, and--upon find a visitor in Credence's bed--decided to let him sleep. However, Professor Dumbledore would be there soon and so the note advised that he should probably get ready shortly. Credence supposed that the kettle noise had been a precaution, to ensure he would have to get up eventually.

Sitting up in bed, Credence looked over and found Percival sleeping with his head under the pillow. He smiled.

Putting a hand gently on his shoulder, Credence gave him a slightly shake. “Percival… I think we have to wake up.” He said. There was no response. “Percival?”

From underneath the pillow came a low groaning noise. “Why…?”

“Because Profesor Dumbledore is going to be here soon,” Credence explained.

The pillow moved, revealing a very grumpy and dishevelled looking Graves. “Albus Dumbledore?!” He questioned. Credence nodded, and Percival immediately sat up. “I know that name…” A look closely resembling panic had crossed his face. “He mentioned him… Right before he tried to have Newt killed. I think he's important to him.”

Credence frowned, and was on the verge of asking who Percival was referring to when it dawned on him. He meant him, as in the man who had taken his life and imprisoned him, stolen his memories and drove him half mad. He meant Grindlewald.

Unsure what to make of this information, Credence simply said “Oh,”

Percival was now out of bed, pulling on his shirt and hastily buttoning it up, then undoing it and buttoning it up again when he realized he'd gotten them all wrong the first time. “Why is he coming here?” Percival asked, finally getting all the buttons in the right order. “What does he want?”

“Newt wrote to him about my… Issue,” Credence explained. “He thinks he can help.”

Graves frowned. “What issue?” He asked.

“You know,” Credence raised an eyebrow. “Horrible cloud… Thing?”

In the middle of pulling on his shoes, Percival stopped. “You mean that's… You still do that?”

“Well, I haven't yet.. But I've come close once or twice, when I get angry or stressed or afraid. Newt an I have been working on it, but until last night I didn't think we'd made any progress. That fire was the first bit of non-Obscurcus magic I've ever been able to do.”

Percival nodded, and went back to his shoes. “I wanted to talk to Dumbledore when he got here, but it's much more important that he help you first. I'll let you three talk, but if you have a moment please do mention me, and see if he would be able to spare a moment to discuss… Everything.”

Credence nodded, and climbed out of bed. “After we talk, I'll send an owl to you letting you know when you should come back over,” He said.

“Only if it won't interfere with him helping you first,”

Credence nodded. “Alright,” He said.

Looking at his watch, Percival frowned. “I should be going… By now Penny has noticed I disappeared.”

“You didn't tell her you left?” Credence questioned.

“It was late… And the decision was a bit impulsive. In retrospect it would have been a good idea to leave a note.”

“That is possible,” Credence agreed, trying to not to smile.

Graves looked at him, and a slow smile turned the corner of his mouth up. “That was cheeky,” He said.

The smile slipped off Credence's face. “Was it? I'm sorry, I only meant--”

Percival shook his head, and placed his hand against Credence's cheek, cupping his face. “Don't apologize. Cheeky is good. It suits you.”

Looking at Graves, Credence found himself leaning in as if on instinct. “Alright…,” he mumbled, before pressing his lips against Percivals. The kiss was short and quick, but still managed to leave Credence breathless. Percival smiled at him,

“I'll wait for you owl,” Percival said. Credence nodded, and with a crack he was gone.

After Graves left, Credence got ready quickly and hurried downstairs, where he found Newt coming back through the door that led to where he kept his beasts. “Oh, Credence, you're awake,” Newt said. Credence nodded. “Excellent.”

Following Newt through the door back into the cottage was a handsome middle aged man with brown hair and a short grey-flecked beard. He wore a bright blue tweed vest over a silvery shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“...truly remarkable, absolutely wonderful Mr. Scamander,” the man was saying, shaking his head.

Newt looked pleased at the praise. “Thank you, Professor,” Newt said.

The man--who Credence could only assume was the wizard they'd been waiting for-- noticed him then and smiled. “Ah,” He said. “And this must be young Mr. Barebone. I've heard a lot about you, young man.”

Credence opened his mouth, and as he often did upon meeting new and particularly imposing people, completely forgot how to speak. “Uh--”

“Credence, this is Professor Albus Dumbledore,” Newt supplied, covering for Credence's silence.

Desperately trying to get words out, Credence managed to blurt “Good to meet you!” as he lurched forward to shake Professor Dumbledore’s hand. He was pleased that he had managed to get something out for a moment, before he realized he had spoken much more loudly than he had intended.

To his relief, Dumbledore smiled and shook his hand back. “It's good to meet you as well,” he said.

“Why don't I draw us up some tea?” Newt said, pulling out his wand, “And then we can all talk.” He waved his hand and the kettle across the room began to puff steam and boil, emitting the same loud noise Newt’s note had made that morning.

“Thank you, Mr. Scamander,” Professor Dumbledore said. “And if you don't mind, I'd love some biscuits to go with it.”

“I apologize Professor, but I don't believe we have any…. And I'm afraid I'm not much of a baker.” Newt frowned for a moment, and a funny look came over his face for just a moment. Credence wondered why the thought of baking should make him sad, but now did not seem the time to ask. The look passed quickly.

“Not to worry, I always keep some on hand for just this sort of emergency,” Dumbledore said, pulling out his own wand. He flicked it towards the coat rack--Credence assumed the long, dark blue coat hanging next to Newt's belonged to him--and Credence watched as something inside the coat began to rustle and shake, as if it were trying to wiggle it's way out. After a moment, a large tray of pastries, cookies and scones emerged from the left pocket and floated themselves over to the table. “Excellent, freshly baked.”

Credence thought he saw Dumbledore cast a quick sideways glance at him and smile slightly at the very impressed look on Credence's face.

They settled in around the kitchen table, and after a few moments hesitation, Credence helped himself to a particularly wonderful looking jam tart.

“So, Credence...” Professor Dumbledore began. “Mr. Scamander tells me you've somewhat of an Obscurcus problem. When did that begin?”

Credence paused, looking down at his tart. “Well… I'm not sure exactly. I only recently found out what was happening to me… What I was doing. But I think it might have been happening for years. When I turn into… That thing… I lose time. I wake up somewhere else and I can't remember how I got there. And that's been happening to me for years and years. Not as frequently as it's happened now…But once, maybe twice every few years… For about as long as I can remember.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Interesting… I thought perhaps the Obscurus only developed recently, which may have explained your age, but if it's been happening your whole life...” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Have you ever been able to perform any other means of magic, perhaps in your childhood?" 

"We've been working on that, Profesor," Newt began. "Trying to get him to embrace his magic, and cause it to manifest in a form other than the Obscurus, but so far we haven't been successful," 

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at Credence. "Is this true?" 

For a moment, Credence said nothing. He wasn't sure how to tell them about the fire without mentioning what he'd been doing with Percival when it had happened. Unfortuantely, the expression on his face seemed to give him away.

"Credence, you were able to do some magic?" Newt pressed. Credence reluctantly nodded. "When? What happened?" 

"....last night," Credence said quietly. From the expression that came over his face, Newt seemed to be able to guess what that meant. "It was like, my hand sort of caught fire. But it didn't hurt..."

Dumbledore seemed to find this very interesting. "Well, that's definitely a good sign. But last night, that was the first time? Nothing when you were younger, perhaps when you were scared or threatened or angry?" 

Credence shook his head. "No," If he'd had magic back then, and could use it when he was scared  or threatened or angry... He probably would have been using it everyday. 

Dumbledore nodded. “Tell me about your childhood.”

Credence hesitated. He didn't like talking about this sort of thing, especially not with someone who was a stranger to him. He swallowed, trying to force himself to at least feign bravery.

Looking up at the man questioning him, Credence found himself meeting a rather piercing gaze. His eyes were a bright, light blue and seemed somehow to be staring through Credence rather than at him, as if he knew everything he was thinking and feeling. However, despite the intensity of his gaze, Credence saw there was kindness in his eyes.

“Mary-Lou Barebone took me in when I was around five years old, after my parents died. She… Wasn't very nice.”

Newt raised his eyebrows. “Somewhat of an understatement, Credence,” he said.

“What about your parents, what do you recall of them?” Dumbledore pressed.

Credence shrugged. “Nothing...” There was something, something deep in the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite grasp it.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. “Perhaps that's where our answers lie.” He said. “We only need to discover what it is you've forgotten.”

Credence frowned. “But… I've forgotten it. It's gone.”

Dumbledore smiled knowingly. “Ah, gone and forgotten are not always the same. Just because you can't recall it, doesn't mean it cannot be recalled.”

Credence frowned, and looked towards Newt for an explanation. However, he was surprised to see Newt looked just a confused as he did.

“Judging by the confused looks on your faces, I'm going to guess neither of you have heard of a Pensieve,” Dumbledore continued, “No matter, I know exactly where we can find one.” He stood up, and lifted his hand in the direction of the coat rack. His blue coat immediately sprang forward and shot into his hand. “Let's go,”

Newt was getting to his feet as well. “I'm sorry Professor, but where exactly are we going?”

“Oh, yes, I should probably tell you that,” Professor Dumbledore said. “Now, Mr. Scamander, I must caution you to leave your fantastic beasts at home for this trip. I'm taking somewhat of a risk bringing you back, but what then is life without some risk?”

Newt looked somewhat stunned. “You mean we're going...” He trailed off. Dumbledore nodded.

Newt seemed to have figured out their destination, but Credence was still confused. “Sorry, but I still don't know where we're going...” He said quietly.

Grabbing their coats from the coat rack, Newt tossed Credence his and began to shrug on his own jacket. His face was flushed slightly, as if he were a bit excited. “Hogwarts, Credence.” Newt said. “We're going to Hogwarts.”

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

As a child, and even into his teen years, Credence had longed to go to school. He'd walk past the school yard sometimes, looking wistfully at the other children laughing and playing, running around the field. He'd always thought that if he could only be there with them, perhaps he could find a friend. After all, there were so many students and he only needed  _ one  _ to like him. One to not find him odd, or annoying or stupid. That was all he needed. 

But Mary-Lou Barebone had insisted on homeschooling all of her children, making sure they received what she considered to be a “proper” education. Her lessons had been dull, and much like her sermons on witches ,had been typically filled with hateful propaganda about one thing or another. While Mary-Lou had been most famously known for hating witches, Credence knew that she'd actually had rather a lot of room in her heart, for the hatred of most everyone else as well. 

But like essentially all things he had desired during his life with the Barebones, Credence had been denied his wish to attend school. Eventually he'd given up on even daydreaming about it, and soon became too old to attend any of them anyways. 

But now, here he was on his way not only to a proper school, but one which held the purpose of teaching  _ magic.  _ Credence wasn't sure how to feel. Judging from Newt's reaction, this was surely supposed to be an exciting occasion. And had he been the proper age to attend lessons, it would have been. But Credence was too old to attend school, even a school for witches and wizards. So instead of excitement, he mostly just felt regret. Regret that he would once more be an outsider, a stranger in the world of the fantastic, looking in on those who belong and daydreaming that he was one of them.

Together with Professor Dumbledore, Credence apparrated into a village he was told was called Hogsmeade, holding onto Newt's arm. The village was small and quaint, little houses and shops dusted with the first signs of snow. 

“We should get going,” Professor Dumbledore said, consulting a pocket watch. “If we're lucky we’ll be able to finish up in time for dinner.” He grinned, and his blue eyes twinkled. “Onwards!” 

Dumbledore turned and strode purposefully through the village. Newt and Credence followed. As they went, Newt pointed out all the different shops to Credence. “That's Zonkos, and Honeydukes--more sweets than you've ever seen in your life.” He said. Credence declined to mention that a small handful of sweets would have been more than he'd ever seen in his whole life. 

“Over there is the Three Broomsticks, you really must try the butterbeer before we leave...” 

Newt trailed off, as they went around the corner. A castle had come into view, and Credence had to stop in his tracks. He'd never seen a castle before, and it was now immediately apparent that whatever image of one he'd held in his head had come nowhere close to resembling the real thing. 

The castle of Hogwarts was huge, with massive turrets and towers reaching up the sky. Moss grew up the impossibly high stone walls, and vines twisted themselves around the towers. Credence could see a lake stretching out to the side, glittering and black and perfectly reflecting the enormous castle by its side. 

The size of it should have been imposing, even frightening, but somehow Credence did not feel afraid. It was too beautiful to have been scary, and instead Credence felt only sadness, that this would never be a place to which he belonged. 

Closer to the castle, in front of a large gate, Dumbledore stopped. He seemed to be waiting for something. He smiled, when a moment later, something came toward them. It took a few moments for Credence to make out what it was, but when he did he jumped back in fright. A terrible creature approached them, with empty, gaping white eyes and a skeletal body. It almost resembled a horse, but with bony black wings stretching out from either side. It looked like something from Credence's worst nightmare. 

“Shall we?” Dumbledore said, gesturing to the carriage being toted by the Nightmare Horsey. Newt nodded and stepped up into it, but Credence backed away. He knew enough about magical beasts to know that while some were perfectly harmless and friendly, others could certainly kill him with ease and pleasure. This one, he was willing to bet, was the latter. 

Newt saw him staring. “She's a thestral, Credence,” Newt explained, as if knowing its name would suddenly make it less frightening. “The ones on the Hogwarts grounds are perfectly tame, they won't hurt you.”

Eyeing the thestral warily, Credence carefully climbed up into the carriage. Dumbledore followed, and as soon as all three were seated, the thestral moved forward with no prompting. “Unfortunate creatures, Thestrals,” Newt said, watching the beast as they went along the grounds towards the castle. “So many people consider it bad luck to see one, but that's nonsense. If you can see them in the first place, then you've already had the bad luck.” 

Credence frowned, “How do you mean?” He asked.

“Thestrals can’t be seen by everyone,” Professor Dumbledore explained. “The only people who can see them are the ones who have seen death.” 

There was silence following this, and Credence realized that both Dumbledore and Newt could see the creatures. He felt very sad, suddenly. It was no wonder he could see them… The deaths of Mary-Lou, Chastity and the senator he could only recall in the dimmest senses, but they were there somewhere in the back of his mind and he supposed that was enough. And farther back, there was something else… This one he could barely grasp, as the memory slipped and slithered away from him like a snake. He shook his head, and it was gone. 

The grounds of Hogwarts were vast and wide, but the thestral went along quickly and in what seemed like no time at all, they were at the castle. As reluctant as Credence had been to climb into the carriage, he was now just as reluctant to climb out. 

There were students everywhere. They milled about the grounds, some wearing long black cloaks with colourful hats and scarves, others running around in plain clothes, lounging under the trees or by the side of the lake. Credence felt a pang. They looked happy. 

Eventually, Credence climbed out of the carriage, smoothing down his coat and fixing his hair. He suddenly felt self conscious, as if every student were staring at him and judging him and his ugliness. He told himself no one cared, no one noticed… But he didn't believe it. 

“Professor Dumbledore!” A girls voice called. Credence turned and saw a young girl, perhaps 14 or 15, running towards them. She wore a long black cloak, which seemed to be part of the Hogwarts uniform, and a bright yellow and grey scarf that looked very familiar. “You’re back! I thought you said you'd be away from the school today.” 

“Oh, I am indeed away today, on urgent business,” Dumbledore explained, smiling down at his student. “Only it seems now that my urgent business is to be done at the castle.” 

The girl smiled, and then to Credence's horror, turned her attention to him and Newt. “Hullo,” She said, extending her hand. “I'm Ramona Featherby, are you a new student here?” She asked Credence. 

Credence shook his head, and with difficulty forced himself to reach forward and shake her hand. 

“Oh,” She said. “Too bad. You've got a good Hufflepuff look to you, and we could use another boy because Jareth McGlunken just transferred to  _ llvermorny _ ,” She said, screwing up her face, like this was a very distasteful thing for Jareth to do. Credence noticed Newt seemed to be smiling to himself. 

She turned to Newt and offered her hand as well. “Just visiting too?” She asked. 

Newt nodded. “Yes, although I did used to attend school here...” He glanced up at the castle, and Credence thought he looked a bit sad. “I was a Hufflepuff as well,” He said, turning back to Ramona. 

“Brilliant!” Ramona said, her face brightening. “What's your job now? Emily Cattington keeps saying no one wants to give jobs to Hufflepuffs anymore, on account of us all being a lot of ‘blithering idiots’ but she's a Ravenclaw so she's just stuck up and thinks she knows everything.”

Dumbledore looked down his nose at her, somewhat disapprovingly. “Now, Ms. Featherby, it doesn’t do anymore good to call all the Ravenclaws stuck up know-it-alls, than it does for Ms. Cattington to call all Hufflepuff’s ‘blithering idiots.’ You might be divided by your houses, but your all Hogwarts students and I expect a certain level of comradery.” 

Ramona nodded and bowed her head solemnly. “Apologies Professor Dumbledore. I know not all Ravenclaws are stuck up know-it-alls,” She said. After a moment, she added “Just Emily Cattington.” 

Dumbledore nodded his head in approval. “Much better.” 

Across the field a boy called out to Ramona, beckoning her over. Ramona waved back to him, and turned to say goodbye. “Well, it was nice meeting you,” She said to Newt and Credence. “Professor,” she said, inclining her head to him. He nodded back to her, and she ran off towards her friend. 

They stood and watched Ramona run off for a moment, and then Dumbledore suggested they should resume their progress into the castle. 

Credence followed at Newt’s side, looking left and right at all the students and professors walking the halls. And amongst them, was something else. 

“Newt...” Credence said slowly, staring at the pearly white figure floating towards him. “What’s that?” 

“Hmm? Oh, that, Credence, is a ghost.” Newt said, quite calmly. Credence supposed that this was normal then, for semi-transparent members of the undead to be floating leisurely about the hallways of the school. He sighed, and continued onwards. On top of all that he had seen and experienced these past several months, this was just one more thing.

As they continued their way through the castle, Newt picked up where he had left off in Hogsmeade, explaining everything they encountered to Credence. 

“Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are school houses, by the way,” Newt explained. “There’s Hufflepuff, my old house, Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Gryffindor. When you come to Hogwarts as a first year student, the first thing they do is sort you into your house.” 

“How do they decide that?” Credence asked, wondering on what evidence Ramona Featherby had declared he looked like a Hufflepuff. 

“They don’t, the Sorting Hat does,” Newt said. “It’s a sort of ancient magical object, that can hear all your thoughts and see the cloth you’re cut from, and what you value and so on. And based on that, it decides where you go. People take a lot of pride in their houses, they sort of wind up defining you while you’re school.” 

“How old are the first years?” 

“Eleven,”

Credence frowned. “So at eleven years old, you put a magic hat on your head and it tells you your whole identity?” 

Newt opened his mouth, but Dumbledore started to laugh. “It’s a wonderful system, truly,” Dumbledore said, smiling proudly. “But I do agree, sometimes I wonder if the sorting shouldn’t be done at a bit older age, given how seriously everyone takes their placement.” 

They walked up a staircase, and Credence couldn’t help but notice that once they stepped off the stairs onto the landing, the staircase immediately moved itself over to connect with another landing somewhere else. “People are such fickle creatures you know, they grow and change, adapting to what life throws their way… but the sorting is meant to suss out who a person is at their core, when all else is stripped away. Ah, here we are!” 

They had arrived in a corridor which ended in a large statue of a gargoyle. Dumbledore cleared his throat and said “ _ Brutum Fulmen,”  _ which caused the gargoyle to immediately leap aside, revealing a stairway. 

After all the excitement the day had brought, Credence was only now remembering what their purpose here was. They were going to do something to his memories, to bring them back somehow. The thought made Credence quite queasy. There was a lot that had happened to him in his life that he really did not want to remember. 

At the end of the stairway there was a round office. It was a large space, neat and plain with a lot of bookshelves and portraits of witches and wizards chatting amongst themselves. They took notice when the three of them entered. 

“Headmaster Dippet isn’t in right now,” Said a round faced witch in a rather horrible purple hat. She drew herself up importantly. “Please come back later, Mister Dumbledore.” 

Dumbledore smiled and continued his way into the room. “Oh, I’m absolutely sure the headmaster won’t mind us stopping by to use the pensieve,” Dumbledore said, with the air of someone who was not at all sure that he wouldn’t mind, but also did not at all care. 

“Isn’t that Newton Scamander there?” A wizard with a long upturned nose and a monocle injected, staring at Newt. “What on earth is  _ he  _ doing here, I’m sure Headmaster Dippet would not want someone he  _ expelled  _ from the school to be roaming around his office without his being there!”

Credence looked at Newt, who shifted around uncomfortably for a moment. He hadn’t mentioned he’d been expelled. He supposed that was why Dumbledore had said he was taking somewhat of a risk, by bringing Newt back. 

Unlike Newt, Dumbledore didn’t seem phased by this accusation. “Well you, extenuating circumstances there..” He mumbled, fiddling with the doors of a cabinet to the side of the room. He opened the cabinet and pulled out a round stone basin, with strange runes and stone pressed into the sides. He set this on the table. “Here we are.”

Credence was supposing this was the device he had mentioned a moment ago, the pensieve. Dumbledore clapped his hands together, looking expectantly at Credence. “Now,” He said. “Where shall we begin?”


	25. Chapter 25

Tapping his wand against the side of the Pensieve, Dumbledore filled the basin with a silvery liquid. Then he beckoned Credence forward.

“Now, Credence, I want you to think very hard about your life as a child, before Mary Lou Barebone. Try and remember your family, your mother and father… Siblings, if you had any.”

Credence nodded, and stepped cautiously forward. He closed his eyes, and tried to concentrate. _Life before the Barebones…_ There was something there, something just below the surface, hidden away from him. A woman's voice, saying his name…

“Hold still,” Dumbledore mumbled, and Credence opened his eyes to find the wizard pressing his wand to Credence's forehead. Before he could ask why, Dumbledore drew out a long silvery thread, and added it to the liquid in the basin. The liquid stirred and began to change, and Credence saw a woman's face take form inside of it. She was a pretty, young woman with dark, smiling eyes and dark hair. She looked familiar.

“Shall we?” Dumbledore asked, indicating the woman in the water. He hovered it hand over it, as if to touch it. After a moments hesitation, he did the same. Newt followed as well. Credence looked to him for a moment, and Newt nodded. At the same time, they touched the liquid, and the floor fell away.

* * *

Credence was falling through the darkness, air rushing past his ears with a terrible howl. He couldn't see the others, and just as he was starting to get scared, the falling stopped. It wasn't as if he landed, there was no thud and no jolt, it was just that suddenly he was no longer falling, and seemed to be upright on the ground, inside a small house. Dumbledore and Newt were at his side. They were looking at something.

Credence turned, and saw the woman from before kneeling on the floor, in front of a small child. The boy on the floor was maybe four or five years old, and he had an unruly mop of black hair just as dark as the woman's. The child was smiling and clapping his hands, as the woman proceeded to make several of his toys dance and float around him.

Ruffling the child's hair, the woman let the toys float slowly downwards, and the boy caught a teddy bear and gave it a squeeze. “Let me try!” The boy cried excitedly. A look of serious concentration came over his little face, and after a moment he let go of the bear. Instead of falling, the bear floated gently upwards, higher and higher until it touched the ceiling. “Mum, mum look!” The boy cried, his eyes wide. “I did it too!”

His mother smiled, but Credence could see worry in her eyes.

The memory changed, and the scene floated off as if it had been washed away. Now the little boy was gone, and the woman stood in the room with a tall, skinny man with messy brown hair. “... His powers are growing, every day...” The woman was saying, sounding concerned. “And it's not just when he's angry or upset, it's all the time. He can control them, Creed,”

Unlike the woman, the man didn't seem to find this an issue. “Incredible, isn't it?” The man said, grinning. The look on the woman's face must have told him she disagreed. “Honestly, Sylvia, you worry too much! The kids strong, it's a good thing!”

“What if he gets too strong?” Sylvia pressed. “What if he loses control, does magic in front of someone he shouldn't…that awful Barebone woman has been sniffing around so much, what if she sees him doing magic…?”

Creed’s eyes darkened. “Mary-Lou and Jeb Barebone are two Scourer descendants if I ever saw them… But we won't let anything happen to Credence Jr. We'll teach him to be careful, to keep it under control...”

“He's four, Credence,” Sylvia said plainly. “Last week I tried to teach him that putting broccoli up his nose was a bad thing, and he hasn't quite got that down either.”

Credence Sr. chuckled, and pulled his wife in close “It'll be ok, Sylv… I promise, it will be ok...”

The scene was washed away again, and Sylvia now was sitting on the couch at the far end of the room while the young Credence sat by her feet, playing with a model train. “Choo choo,” The child Credence said, moving his arm up and down, mimicking a train conductor pulling their whistle. As he did this, the miniature train began to move in circles on its own, with little clouds of smoke puffing along behind it. Credence gleefully turned to his mother, who smiled warily down at her son.

Credence Senior entered the room, standing in front of the window and looking fondly at his wife and child. “What’ve you got th—”

The sound of shattering glass signalled the end to the happy images of Credence’s childhood, as he watched his father engulfed in the flames set by something that had been lobbed in through the window. His mother dived to the floor for her son, who was screaming and reaching for his father. She pulled him back, back into the corner of the room as the fire spread throughout the house.

“My wand, my wand—” Credence’s mother gasped, looking around desperately. She spotted it at the same time the adult Credence did, lying beside the chair, several feet away now and engulfed in flame. Forgetting himself, Credence ran to the wand, tried to pick it up and give it to her… tears were running down his face, just as his younger self screamed for his father.

Credence felt a hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing you can do, Credence,” Professor Dumbledore said sadly. “This has all already happened.”   
  
Credence turned back to the terrible scene from his memories. His mother was trying to soothe his younger self, petting his hair and shushing him. “Credence, my darling, Credence you have to listen to me,” She pleaded. Credence sniffled, and looked up at his mother. “You can get out of this, you can. Do you remember that time you wanted to go visit Aunty Jessy, the week before she died? But you father and I… we didn’t want you to see her like that, do you remember?”

The small Credence nooded. His mother smiled and stroked his hair.

“But you went anyhow, didn’t you? You just wished yourself there, and poof, there you were!” There were tears in her eyes now, and she was starting to cough from the smoke that had filled the room. “I need you do that now. Just… just wish yourself away, alright?”

“And you’re coming too?” Credence bawled, holding tightly to his mother’s shirt. She shook her head, but the child did not care. “And you’re coming too…. You and Daddy, you’re both coming with me…!”

“No, Credence, no...” Sylvia said, wiping the tears from her son’s eyes. “No, darling… just you. But Credence, listen to me, this is very important. The people outside this house right now, the people that have done this… if they find about you, about your magic, they’ll kill you too, do you understand? Never let them know what you are, Credence. Keep it down, keep it hidden. Pretend you're one of them. Hide. Always, hide. Do you promise?”

Credence nodded, his bottom lip trembling. “I promise,” He said. He started to cough, and his mother clutched him to her chest one last time.

“Mommy and Daddy love you, Credence. Never forget that, we... love you so much...” She sputtered as the smoke grew thicker and the flames grew hotter. “Now go, Credence…. You have to go.”

Newt and Dumbledore both had a hand on each of Credence’s shaking shoulders as the scene changed. They were outside now, and standing next to a large group of people who looked ready to do battle. They carried more of the self-made bombs that had ignited Credence’s house and killed his family, and Credence saw a few others holding guns. All turned their heads a small, coughing child wandered around from the back of the house, soot and tears streaking his cheeks.

Everyone tensed, and trained their weapons on the child. “Be careful, you don’t know what he’s capable of--” A short man with a thick mustache said, putting his arm out. “Weapons ready.”

Drawing herself up, a short haired woman stepped forward. Credence’s shoulders tensed and he tasted bile at the back of his throat. Mary-Lou.

“Come here, child,” Mary-Lou Barebone said, stretching out her hand.   
  
Credence wanted to scream, wanted to tell his younger self not to go to her, to run away and never look back… but he knew he would not be able to hear him. All of this wasn’t really happening now, it was just a memory. His memory.

The young Credence stepped forward, sniffing loudly.

“Do you know what your parents were, child?” May-Lou asked. “What they could do?”

Credence nodded.

“And what about you? Can you do those things too?” She pressed.

For a moment, the child just stared. Then slowly, he shook his head. “N-no, I can’t...” he said very quietly. Almost too quietly for his adult self to hear. “I don’t have a-any magic or anything...”

Mary-Lou nodded. “Tell me, what’s your name?” She asked, crouching down to his level.

Credence wiped his eyes and sniffled. “C-credence.” He stammered.

Mary-Lou smiled. “Credence.” She looked pleased with this answer. “You know, that means _trust_ in latin.” She looked up towards her husband, who had stepped to her side. “It means _belief_.” She turned back to the shaking child in front of her. “Credence, it’s going to be alright,” She grinned that big, fake grin that Credence knew all too well. “Trust me, child.”

Mary-Lou Barebone put her hand on the young Credence’s shoulder and the scene washed away. The adult Credence shouted, cried out for it not to change, for it not to end this way. It couldn’t end this way, this couldn’t happen—

Quite suddenly they were back in Hogwarts, standing around the Pensieve. Credence’s shoulders were shaking, his whole body vibrating with a dangerous rage he now knew too well. “She… my mother… ” Credence whispered, staring down at his shoes. Either Newt or Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder but he pushed them off. “My father… she...” his vision was swimming in front of his eyes and he could feel the room around him begin to shake. “She killed them. She killed them both—”

“Credence, please, calm down,” Newt said quietly, stepping in front of Credence. “You don’t need to do this, you’ve come so far… if you lose control now, you won’t survive.”

“What would your mother have wanted,” Dumbledore whispered.

“I don’t know!” Credence screamed, rounding on him. He could see Mary-Lou’s smiling face in his mind, and had she been alive and in front of him and he would have killed her again. “I guess I’ll never know!”

Dumbledore regarded him calmly, and slowly Credence let his fists unclench. He breathed out, and tried to focus. He couldn’t lose control again, Newt was right. If he turned into the Obscurus, he could kill Newt, he could kill Dumbledore… and who knew how many others. He couldn’t let that happen.

Backing away, Credence ran his fingers through his hair. His heart was still racing and his mind was crammed too full of thoughts to make any single one out. He’d had a mother, and a father. He’d always known, of course, that he’d had a mother and a father but he hadn’t remembered them at all. Now he knew their names, their faces… and that they’d loved him.

He could feel Newt and Dumbledore watching him and he turned away, trying to keep the tears from falling.

This was too much. He needed to get out, he needed… someone. Something.

Percival. He needed Percival’s arms around him, needed his voice in his ear saying it would be alright. He needed to be with someone he loved.

“Is there anything else we need to do here?” Credence asked quietly.

Dumbledore and Newt exchanged glances. “No,” Dumbledore said. “I think we discovered the… source of the Obscurus. Now perhaps we can work together, to undo its effects.”

Newt nodded. “Yes, this was… very enlightening.” He said softly.

* * *

 

It was approaching evening by the time they returned back to Newt’s cottage. Dumbledore had stayed back at the castle, but assured them he could be by again the next day to continue to work on the issue. Credence thought he had thanked Dumbledore for his help, but he couldn’t have been quite sure.

The cottage seemed quiet, and empty when they entered it. “I’m going to check on everybody,” Newt said, hanging up his coat. “Is there anything you need?”

“Can I borrow Flynn?” Credence asked, referring to one of Newt’s faster owls. “Just to send a letter to Percival...”

Newt nodded. “Let me know if you need anything else.” He said, before disappearing into the enclosure where he kept his creatures.

Credence went the Newt’s small owlery, and woke up Flynn. He wrote a quick message to Percival, not even taking note of what he was saying. He hoped it conveyed that he needed him.

* * *

Credence was on his bed when Percival apparated in, looked panicked. He glanced quickly around the room and, spotting Credence on the bed, rushed over to him. “What happened?” Percival asked. “Was it Dumbledore? Was he Grindlewald? Did he hurt you?”

Credence frowned. “What do you mean ‘Was he Grindlewald’?” Credence questioned.

Percival turned away. “Nothing, I… Forget that.”

Credence reached forward and placed a hand on Percival’s. “Grindlewald is jail,” He said softly. “You know that...”

Wincing somewhat, Percival looked back to Credence. “I know that,” He said quietly. “But I'm not sure I believe it. And part of me keeps expecting every stranger I meet to turn out to be him. He took my life over, fooled everyone around me… Who's to say he can't do it again?”

Credence didn't know what to say. Reminding him that the man who'd stolen his life was in jail seemed to do no good. If he knew the facts but couldn't believe them, what could Credence say to convince him it was true?

Percival shook his head. “This isn't what I came here for. Your letter, you sounded distressed and your penmanship had a jilt to it, like your hand was shaking. What's wrong?”

“I...” Credence didn't even know where to begin. “Do you know what a Pensieve is?”

Percival nodded. “Yes. I've never seen one before, but I've heard of them. They're used to recall and view memories, correct?”

“Yes,” Credence said. “There's one at Hogwarts, in the Headmasters office… We used it to try and see why I'm an Obscurial.”

“And?” Percival pressed gently. “Did you discover the reason?”

Credence nodded, and found his eyes filling with the tears he had tried so hard to fight back. “I…I had a family,” He said, unable to muster anything louder than a whisper. “A mother and a father. They… They were witches. They loved me.” He wiped his eye as Percival put an arm around his shoulder, holding him tight. He listened quietly while Credence spoke.

“I was four, but I… I was doing magic. It worried my mother, she was afraid someone would see me and they'd know what we were. My dad thought it would be fine, but he was wrong… They came for us. Something came in through the window, like-like a bomb or something. It killed my dad, set the house on fire… My mom, she couldn't get to her wand.” Credence squeezed his eyes shut, the memory of what he'd seen still too fresh in his mind. “She knew I could magic myself out, so she told me to go… I didn't want to, I didn't… But I did it.”

Credence lifted his head from Percival’s shoulder. “Before I left her, she told me I could never tell anyone what I was. That I had to hide it, pretend to be one of them. And when I went outside and she was waiting for me, that's what I did. But I think a part of her always knew what I really was… And she hated me for that.”

“Who, Credence?”

Credence’s jaw clenched. “Mary Lou Barebone,” he said, his voice thick with venom. “She killed my parents, burned them alive… ”

Credence pressed his lips together, but was unable to fight it off any longer. Tears spilled over his cheeks and he pushed himself back into Percival’s arms as the sobs wracked through his body. It wasn't fair, none of this was fair. His parents had been good people, they'd been kind and caring and they'd loved him. Why did they have to die? Why had he had to grow up without them, in the care of a monster? None of it was right, none of it was fair.

Credence had never thought of the world as a place of fairness, a place where good overcame evil and the monsters never won. He'd never questioned the cruelty he'd endured at Mary-Lou's hands because it had been all he'd known. Pain, hatred and misery were his life and he supposed some part of him had just assumed that that was the way life was.

But he'd learned that wasn't always true. There was good in the world, kindness in the world. He'd been happy, these last few months, happier than he would have thought possible. But now the true cruelty of it all seemed clear to him. If there was happiness and love and laughter in this world, if it was possible for good to win over evil and for happy endings to be possible… Then why not for his parents? Why had their fate been to die so young, to have their child taken away and raised by a villain ? Where was their happy ending?

It wasn't fair. None of it was.

“I should have saved her...” Credence mumbled, almost unaware that he was speaking.

Percival raised his eyebrows. “Sorry?”

“I said I should have saved her!” Credence cried, louder now. His eyes were red and his throat sore. “If I could get myself out why couldnt I take her with me? Why did I just leave her there to die?!”

“Credence, you were four years old… To be able to have any sort of control of your magic at that age is incredible… But you can't work miracles.”

Credence shook his head. “I should have saved her, I should saved them both… If I was so strong, I should have been able to save them...”

Stroking his head, Percival pulled Credence back into his arms. “You did your best, Credence. None of this is your fault… Rest now… It's alright...”

Sobs took over once more, and even though he wanted to argue with him, he lacked the strength. Eventually the sobs tapered off and exhaustion overcame him, and Credence fell asleep in Percival arms, as Percival stroked his hair and told him it would be alright.

 

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

Pale morning light drifted in through a crack in the curtains as Credence groggily lifted his head, looking around at the room. Upon doing so, he noticed two things very quickly: the first, that Percival was no longer with him. The second, Albus Dumbledore was leaning against the door frame, smiling at him. 

Jumping slightly and moving back on the bed, Credence tried to think of a reasonable explanation for Dumbledore to be there. He was wearing a pink apron and mismatched oven mitts. Credence wondered if this was perhaps a very odd dream. 

“They sent me to wake you,” Dumbledore said. “I was just about the conjure some very loud, annoying noises to do so, so good job waking up on your own.” 

Credence nodded, not feeling awake enough to come up with a verbal response. He climbed slowly out of bed, dimly noting that he'd never changed out of the clothes he'd been wearing the day before.

“Are you coming?” Dumbledore asked. Credence nodded again. “Excellent. Breakfast is just about ready. Assuming they haven't let it all burn these last two minutes, of course.” 

It occurred to Credence then that he could smell something cooking, something that smelled very good. Who had made breakfast? Newt had never made anything more complicated than oatmeal, and he was reasonably sure Percival existed purely on coffee and the occasional piece of toast. 

“Now, granted it's not often I cook for myself--the Hogwarts house elves tend to spoil you that way-- but when I do I think I manage a rather fine meal,” Dumbledore said, leading Credence out of his room. “By the way, I've been introduced to your Mr. Graves,” He went on, as they descended the stairs. “I have to say, if it wasn't ineffably clear how much he cares for you, I might be inclined to steal him for myself,” He nudged Credence with his elbow as he said this, and grinned. 

Credence nodded, and a moment later he finished processing Dumbledore’s words and stopped on the stairs. “Wait… What was that?” 

Dumbledore laughed. “A joke, my dear boy, nothing more. Although he is very good looking, I feel my days of romancing handsome men are over...” He looked away for a moment, and Credence thought he saw something sad pass through his gaze. Credence didn't see why his days of romance needed to be over, he didn't look that old and he was still quite good looking. 

Frowning, Credence looked Dumbledore up and down. “Are you… Do you… Have you…. Like …. Men?” 

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I have like men indeed,” He said, grinning a teasing smile. 

Credence’s face flushed. “I meant do you...” He murmured. 

“I do,” Dumbledore said. “Although it's been many years since I've been as close to someone as you seem to be with Mr. Graves. If I ever was at all...”

Dumbledore smiled at him, but it looked a bit sad again. Credence wondered if he'd had his heart broken by someone in the past.

Putting on his usual cheerful face, Dumbledore continued forwards into the kitchen, where Percival was setting the table. Or to be more accurate, he was monitoring the progress of the plates and cutlery, as they proceeded to set themselves upon the table. 

“Forks go on the left, knives on the right,” Percival corrected, as a few pieces of cutlery seemed to get into an argument about who went where. “It's not that difficult, really.”

He looked up when Credence entered, and immediately looked concerned. “Credence, you're awake,” He said, striding over. He waved his wand and the cutlery stopped bickering, and clattered to the table. “How are you feeling?” 

Credence shrugged. “Alright….” He said, as Percival put his hands on his shoulders. “Better, now...” He glanced over at Dumbledore, who was across the room poking his wand at the hot cakes. “Did you talk to him?” Credence asked in a low voice. 

Percival shook his head. “I tried, but he insisted everyone have breakfast before we discussed such things,” He looked slightly pained about this. Credence saw him glance over at Dumbledore, in his pink apron and different coloured oven mitts. “He's really not what I was expecting.” 

Credence nodded. “I like him, though… He's nice. And he's...” Credence frowned, unsure how to put it. “Like us. He likes men.” 

Percival raised an eyebrow. “And?” 

Credence puffed up. “And what? That's enough. I mean, the total of every man I know who also likes men is… Well, they're both standing in this room. So it's a big deal. It's important.” 

Percival smiled. “Alright, duly noted.”

“Good morning Credence,” Newt said, wiping his hands with a rag as he exited the enclosure where he kept his creatures. “Professor, I didn't know you were so adept in the kitchen,” Newt said, watching Dumbledore float several golden hot cakes onto a plate in the centre of the table. 

Dumbledore waved his hand airily, as if to say it was nothing. Credence nodded in agreement. “It smells really good,” He said, his stomach rumbling. 

They took their seats, and Credence took in the scene. The table was full of things that Credence very much wanted to eat -- crisp bacon and scrambled egg, fat sausages and biscuits, and a large pile of hot cakes piled high in the centre. It had been a while since he'd had a big breakfast like this, not since he'd been back with Queenie and Tina. 

“What's wrong?” Percival asked, putting on a hand on Credence's shoulder. “You look sad.” 

Credence blinked in surprise. “Don't I always?” He said, trying to lighten the moment. In truth it was always threw him, having someone notice when he was feeling down. It was a strange sensation, being paid attention to. 

Percival raised his eyebrows. “What's wrong?” He repeated, his voice soft. 

“Nothing, nothing,” Credence said, shaking his head. “I just, I was thinking about Tina and Queenie. They used to make breakfast like this and I just… I miss them, I guess. I haven't heard from either of them in a while, either...” 

“Neither have I, actually,” Newt said thoughtfully, his brow creasing. “I sent Tina a letter a while ago, but she never responded.” 

“Perhaps her owl has gotten lost,” Dumbledore advised. “Even the most intelligent of creatures can be subject to folly, at times.” 

Newt nodded. “Perhaps...” He said.

* * *

Breakfast had tasted just as good as it had looked and smelled, and Credence actually felt a bit ill afterward. Percival said he had large eyes and a small stomach, but Credence thought it was just a determination to eat as much as he could, to make up of all those years living in a not-quite-starved state. At some point he would teach himself to learn pacing, but that was a problem for another day. 

After everything was cleaned up, and all the plates and pots and pans were magically secured back into the cupboards, Dumbledore finally seemed to think it was time to turn to the several important matters at hand. 

“Now, Mr. Graves, before breakfast you suggested you wanted to discuss something with me,” Dumbledore said, removing his pink apron. “I have an idea about what it entails but why don't you fill me in,”

Percival nodded, and resumed his seat at the kitchen table. Credence sat next to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. He knew that this was not going to be an easy conversation for him, “What do you know,” Percival began. “Of Grindlewalds attack on New York.” 

“Little more than what was in the Daily Prophet,” Dumbledore replied. “I know that he staged an attack, but was captured thanks to the valiant efforts of several aurors, with great assistance from a Ms. Goldstein and Mr. Scamander, and is now being held at Macusa pending his trail,” Dumbledore paused. “Which I believe is to take place tomorrow.” 

“What do you know that wasn't in the papers?” Graves asked quietly, not meeting Dumbledore’s eyes.

“I know Grindlewald was in New York for roughly a week, before he was caught,” Dumbledore said. “I know he impersonated a high ranking Macusa official, and infiltrated their administration. I know he was after something, something he thought he could use as a weapon.” He glanced at Credence as he said this. 

Percival nodded. “All correct. And by now I'm sure you've already figured out the parts we all played. Credence was what he was after… And I was going to be how he got to him. It was my life he took over, my identity and mind he stole...” 

“I'm very sorry for that, Mr. Graves,” Dumbledore said softly. “I'm sorry for both of you. Grindlewalds caused a lot of pain to a lot of people… I'm sorry that has to include the two of you.” 

“At least they have him now,” Newt said. “He’ll be in Azkaban any day,”

“Or dead,” Credence said, a touch of bitterness in his voice. He knew it was wrong to wish someone dead, but after all the man had done to him and Percival… It was difficult not to. 

A strange look touched Dumbledore's eyes as Credence said this, but it was gone to quickly for Credence to say what it had been. 

“What I was wondering...” Graves began. “Is how you knew him?”

Albus Dumbledore looked somewhat startled by the question. “What makes you think I did?”

“He mentioned you,” Percival explained. “I could feel it in his mind as he said your name… You're important to him.” 

The funny look was back in Dumbledore’s eyes now, as he took this in. He wasn't able to get rid of it quite so quickly this time. He stood up and turned away, looking out at the window. 

“I knew him, many years ago...” Dumbledore said softly. “He was visiting his great aunt, who lived close to where I grew up… He wasn't what he was now, at least… He didn't appear to be. He was just a young man, intelligent and charismatic...” Dumbledore paused. “We were friends.” He turned back around, and Credence could see sorrow in his blue eyes. 

“And you never suspected what he was really like?” Percival questioned. “Never thought he might have the potential--” 

“To become the most dangerous wizard alive?” Dumbledore finished. “No, I don't think so. I think perhaps, that potential was in him all along, but I suppose I chose not to see it. It wasn't until it was too late that the darkness in him made itself truly apparent and by then… Well, I suppose I’ll be paying for my blindness for as long as I live.” 

There was a bitterness in his voice as he said this, and Credence had a feeling there was a lot more to the story than he was telling them. Still, it didn't seem his place to pry. Percival looked like he wanted to, but said nothing.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Does that answer your question, Mr. Graves?” 

Running his fingers through his hair, Percival sighed. “I suppose it does,” he said, not sounding as if he was pleased about this. “I'm not sure what I was looking for, really just… I have this feeling...” 

Credence rubbed Percival’s shoulder. He could tell he was distressed, and he thought he was holding something back. There was a part of him, Credence knew, that was convinced Grindlewald has escaped capture, and was on his way to them right now. And as much as logic told him that wasn't true, Credence knew he still expected the wizard to jump out at him from every dark corner he encountered. 

“He's not coming after you,” Credence said quietly. 

“That's not what I'm worried about,” Percival mumbled. “At least, not really….” He looked up at Credence, fear in his eyes. “I'm worried he’s coming after  _ you. _ ” 

Standing up from the table, Newt announced “I'm sending another letter to Tina, right now. She’s going to send us a photograph of Grindlewald, in his cell. He's not coming for  _ anyone. _ ” 

Dumbledore nodded. “Excellent plan,” He said, apparently having regained his cheerful nature now that the focus was off of him. "This is the same young woman you mentioned earlier, correct?"

Newt glanced away. “Yes. She’s the auror who I helped to catch Grindlewald,” He said. Credence recalled what Queenie had said, about Newt being Tina’s new  _ beau. “ _ She’s… Very intelligent. _ ”  _

Percival smiled. “Well, good for Tina then,” He said, looking at Newt. “I'm glad she found someone.” 

Newt scratched the back of his head, and mumbled something incoherent before striding off to the owlerey.

* * *

It was late in the evening, and Dumbledore had gone home for the night, with a promise to return the next day. Credence was lying on his bed with his back propped against the wall, and Percival lay between his legs, leaning back against Credence's chest. He stroked his hair, and thought about how very nice it would be to fall asleep like this. 

The day had been long and trying. They had spent most of it trying to get Credence to manifest some of that white fire he had conjured the other day, which had failed entirely. He had been unable to perform any magic, but doing so had been strangely draining, like something was tugging at him deep in chest, something trapped and angry. He thought perhaps he might be able to let it out, but he was too afraid of what form it might take if he did. How did he know that feeling wasn't the Obscurus trying to break free? 

It wasn't safe. 

“What if...” Credence said slowly, voicing a fear he'd been harbouring for a while. “What if I'm just not meant to have magic?” 

“You  _ are _ magic, Credence,” Percival said quietly, tilting his head back to glance up at him. “Of course you're meant to have it. You were always meant to.”

Credence wished he could believe him. “But what if I spent so long without it, that it's just not supposed to happen anymore?” 

“That's impossible, Credence.” Percival said. “You're a wizard, and magic is inside of you. It always has been and it always will be. You can repress it, but it will manifest itself in some form or another, you know that better than anyone. Besides, you've done magic before. I've seen it.”

“But what if my magics gone bad now? What if the Obscurcus is all I have, and if I try to do other magic it will just hurt people?” 

“That fire you made didn't seem like it was going to hurt anyone,” 

“We don't know what that was...” Credence grumbled. 

“I do,” Percival said. “I know exactly what it was. It was you, Credence. Your magic, as it's supposed to be. Beautiful and strong… Just like you.” He reached up and touched Credence's face as he said this. 

Credence snorted. “I don't think I'm either of those things, Percy,”

Percival sat up on the bed and looked at him. “You are though. Strong… The strongest person I've ever met. And the most beautiful.”

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against Credence's mouth, and for a moment Credence believed him. All his life he had been ugly and weak, but he knew Percival was not lying when he said he saw him another way. And if Percival could see him like that, then maybe one day… He could really be that way. 

A long time ago, in what felt like another lifetime, Credence had dreamed things that had made him red in the face. Things which involved Percival, involved them together… Things Mary-Lou Barebone had convinced him were a treacherous sin. He had wanted them anyways, but cursed and hated himself for doing so. 

Now he knew better, and while the things they did together that night still left him red in the face, he was not ashamed. They were together, bodies flush against one another and hands roaming over flesh. Credence was nervous, unsure of what he was doing but eager to do more of it. Somehow Percival seemed equally uncertain, reluctant to ask for too much even as Credence would have given it all to him. They figured it out together, learning the others body, the way they moved and the things they wanted. 

At some point they wound up on the floor, a tangle of limbs and half removed clothing. After a minute of struggling to remove the rest of it to free themselves, Credence began to laugh. He tried to stifle it, feeling bad, but Percy grinned and pulled him forward by the collar of the shirt that was hanging half off his body. They kissed, hard and slow and lay back on the floor together. 

Eventually they moved back to the bed, and very late into the night it was there they fell asleep together, wrapped in each other's arms and exhausted beyond belief. Credence felt a contentment he had never experienced before, and was about to fall into a very deep sleep when he felt Percival press his lips against the back of his neck, and whisper that he loved him. 

For this brief moment, Credence was truly happy. 

* * *

It was still dark when Credence felt someone shake him awake. He groaned, and opened his eyes slowly, to find Newt standing above him. Credence frowned, and opened his mouth to ask what was happening, but Newt put a finger to his mouth, indicating that he should be quiet. He pointed to the doorway, and the hall, and walked out wordlessly. 

Credence dressed quickly, throwing on his pants and only half doing up the buttons on his shirt. He left Percival asleep in bed, and went out into the hallway. The moment he stepped out, he knew something was horribly wrong. 

Queenie and Tina were there, standing with Newt in the dark hall. He would have been happy to see them, but somehow he knew they hadn't come all this way for a social visit. There was a grim look on Tina’s face, and although Queenie smiled at him, it did not meet her eyes.

“What's happened,” Credence asked, keeping his voice low, not wanting to wake Percival. “What's wrong?” 

Tina and Newt exchanged looks. Tina spoke first. “I'm not sure how to tell you this, Credence.” She said. With every passing moment Credence felt more certain about what she was going to tell him. “It’s… Well...” 

Queenie sighed. “He knows, Teenie,” She said quietly. “He already knows what you're going to say.” 

Tina looked at him, clearly miserable. “You do?” She asked. 

Credence nodded. “It was the first thing I thought when Newt woke me up,” Credence said. “He's escaped, hasn't he? Grindlewald has escaped.” From the looks on their faces, that wasn't all there was. “And he's coming for me.”   
  



	27. Chapter 27

After speaking with Tina and the others, Credence decided against waking Percival up. He was sure he would have wanted to be woken up, would want to be immediately alerted to the fact that his worst nightmares had come true… but Credence simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. While he slept he could be peaceful and unaware, and to wake up him would be to bring him pain. It couldn’t have been put off forever, of course… but what would a few more hours of peace hurt? 

Credence himself was unable to sleep for the rest of the night. He sat up in the armchair by the window of his bedroom, chewing on the meat of his thumb and staring at Percy, not thinking about anything much at all. He had received terrible news, of course. The man who had stolen Percival’s life, manipulated and used Credence… he was loose, and Tina and Queenie were both positive he was on his way towards him at this very moment. He should have been scared, he supposed. He should have been wracked with worry, consumed by…. Something. He should have felt something. 

Instead, it was if everything around him had gone somewhat quiet. It was like experiencing the world from underwater. Everything was far away, in another world too distant to reach. He would have been worried about it, but it was actually sort of peaceful. Calm. 

He knew the feeling wouldn’t last. In an hour or so, Percival would wake up and Credence would have to tell him what happened. And there would be no calm after that. 

What would he say to him? How could you possibly break something like this gently?  _ “Sorry, Percy, but remember all that time you lived in terror of Grindelwald, and the possibility that he might escape capture and come for you? Well guess what…” _

It wasn't fair. But then, so few things were.    
  


* * *

When morning came, and Percival woke up, Credence was forced to tell him what had happened. He had decided to start slowly, by mentioning that Tina and Queenie were there. The moment the words left his lips, the colour drained from Percival’s face. Credence’s stomach churned. 

“He’s gotten out,” Percival said, eyes wide as coins. Slowly, Credence nodded. 

Percival looked around, somewhat wildly. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I--” He looked at Credence, clearly pained. “You… He’ll want you...” He said hoarsely. Standing up, Percival put his hands on Credence’s shoulders. “I won't let him get you, Creed. I promise.” 

Credence blinked. This hadn't really been the reaction he'd expected. “We don't know he's coming here...” He said quietly. 

Percival shook his head. “We do. I do. It was… The Obscurus, finding the Obscurus was all he thought about. Not just the power he thought it had, but the whole idea, the message it sent. That magic could not be suppressed, or stopped… That it would fight, grow stronger… Strong enough to destroy all those who tried to keep it down. He was obsessed with it… And now he'll be obsessed with you,”

The idea was somewhat repulsive, and Credence found himself recoiling from the very thought of it. He knew that Grindelwald had wanted to use him, use the monster inside of him… But he hadn't known it had run so deep. “I won't work with him,” Credence said, hugging his arms around himself. “I don't want to hurt anyone.” 

Graves brushed his fingers over Credence's cheek. He looked pale, and sad, but there was a determination in his eyes. “We won’t let it come to that. I promise, I won't let him hurt you. Not anymore.”   


* * *

They stayed in Credence's room for an hour before Percival seemed ready to head downstairs, where the others were presumably having breakfast. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Credence asked as they descended the stairs. Percival had gotten dressed and seemed to be handling himself alright, but he still looked paler than usual and the shaky smile he gave Credence by way of answer did little to reassure him. “I could always just bring something up to you...” 

Instead of answering, Percival went on ahead into the kitchen. With a sigh, Credence followed. 

Tina and Queenie were at the kitchen table when they walked in, and Tina rose to greet them. “Credence, good morning,” She said. She looked to her former co-worker, wearing a tight light smile that suggested to Credence that he was not the only one who could tell Percival did not look well. “Percival, how are you?” 

Letting out a long sigh, Percival withdrew his wand from his pocket and waved himself over a cup of coffee. “Tina, it's been a while. Credence tells me you were reinstated as an Auror back home. Congratulations. Are you here on official business?” 

He took a seat at the kitchen table, and Tina sat back down. She shook her head. “No, we couldn't get the Ministry to cooperate with us. They don't believe we have grounds for suspecting Grindelwald might be headed to this area.”

“Neither did Picquery,” Queenie added. “Probably because we couldn't exactly tell her what we figured he was after,” She said, looking to Credence. 

“Sorry,” Credence mumbled. 

Queenie raised an eyebrow. “What for?” 

Credence paused. He shrugged.

A tapping sound on the window signalled the arrival of the morning post. Newt let the owl in, and took the mail from her. He patted her gently on the head and thanked her, before turning to the mail in his hand. 

“Dumbledore will be here shortly, he's just gotten tied up at the school… Apparently some Aurors are interrogating him.” Newt said, examining one of the letters. “He suggests we all remain put and refrain from doing something we may regret.” Newt frowned and put the letter down. “I wonder what he means by that…”

Newt shrugged, and opened the rest of the mail, which consisted of a postcard from Paris and the Daily Prophet. He unrolled the prophet, and looked at the front page. “Ah, good.” He turned the page around, to show them the front cover, which was a rather terrifying photograph of Grindelwald, snarling and laughing at the camera. The headline read “DARK WIZARD ESCAPES MACUSA CUSTODY.” 

Next to him, Graves tensed visibly, his hand curling into a fist on the table. 

“It’s already in the prophet. Nothing like a bit of mass hysteria in these trying times.” Newt shook his head, and put the paper down. “Honestly...”

Tina looked outraged. “They had no business printing that-- we barely learned of his escape a week ago, and now it’ll be everywhere!”

Queenie made a face. “Uh-oh,” She said quietly. “Wrong words there, Teenie...” 

Before Credence could ask what she meant, he saw the look on Percival’s face. His eyes had narrowed and his mouth was drawn in a thin line. When he spoke, his voice was steel. “‘Learned’ that he escaped? What do you mean  _ learned? _ ” 

Tina glanced away, and then back at Graves. She sighed. “We're not sure how long he's been gone. He transfigured a guard, put some sort of spell on him to make the man think he was Grindlewald. It wore off last week...” 

Percival was on his feet, the chair he'd been sitting on knocked back to the floor. “So he's been gone for months?” He shouted. Credence rose to his feet as well, and put a hand on Percival's shoulder. 

“We don't know how long he's been gone for,” Tina responded, her voice rising as well. “We couldn't know.” 

“You should!” He shouted. 

Newt stepped between Percival and Tina. “That's enough.” He said quietly. “It's not her fault. Grindlewald has power beyond what any of us know.” 

Percival turned away, breathing deeply. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I knew...” He said quietly. “I knew he was out...” 

“Percival, please, just--” Credence managed. He turned to him, and Credence saw there was fear in his eyes. 

“I've put you in danger,” He said, very softly. “I… I can't be here.” He looked around wildly, and his eyes settled on Tina. “Please, keep him safe.” He begged. Before Tina could open her mouth to respond, there was a crack like a whip, and Graves was gone. 

A moment later, someone knocked on the door. Newt crossed the room quickly and opened it, letting Dumbledore into his cottage. “Now then,” Dumbledore said, looking around at their stunned and troubled faces. “What have I missed?”    
  


* * *

A s they attempted to catch Dumbledore up on the events of the morning, it fell to Queenie to explain what had happened with Percival. 

“Well, see I didn't get it all because his thoughts became kind of erratic… ” Queenie explained, fiddling with her cup of tea. “But I think what he realized is that if he knew a while ago that Grindlewald has escaped, then there's a good chance of there still being some connection between their minds. And if that connection is still there...” 

“Then he could use it to find me,” Credence finished. “That's why he left.” There was a pit in his stomach. “I should have listened to him.” 

“Credence, this isn't your fault,” Newt said.

“Months ago he said Grindlewald had escaped, that he was coming here. We all ignored him… We all thought he was just crazy.” He shook his head. “I should have listened.” 

“You couldn't have known,” Tina said. “No one could have.” 

“It wasn't about knowing,” Credence said. “It was about trusting him. Believing him. And I didn't.”

“You can't blame yourself,” Dumbledore said gently. “Ms. Goldstein is right. There was no way to know.”

“When are we going after him?” Credence demanded. “What plan do we have for finding him?” 

Newt raised an eyebrow. “Finding who?”

“Grindelwald!” He felt exasperated. Who else would they be trying to find? “He’s out there, probably hurting innocent people right now. We need to stop him. What plan to do we have?” 

Tina and Newt exchanged looks. Tina reached across the table and put a hand on his. “The plan is to keep you safe, Credence,” 

“We need play this very carefully,” Dumbledore said. “Grindelwald is extremely powerful… He's dangerous. More dangerous than you know. Going after him with no plan, no strategy… It's foolish. We need to think, to use our intelligence.” 

“What do we need to think about?” Credence asked, feeling the blood rush to his head. He was beginning to suspect that he hated Grindelwald, possibly even as much as he hated Mary-Lou Barebone. The man was a monster, and no one seemed inclined to want to do anything about it. 

“Well, first of all… Why haven't we heard from him?” Dumbledore said, tilting his head. “If he escaped months ago, why hasn't he shown himself? Moved against you, or anyone? There's been no attacks, no disturbances… No sightings.” He raised his eyebrows. “He's planning something. And until we know what his plan is, its foolhardy to formulate a plan of our own.” 

“Then what do you suggest, Professor?” Newt asked. Credence thought there was a note of bitterness in his voice, as if he too were unhappy about their non-plan. 

“We wait. We protect Mr. Barebone and keep him out of Grindelwald's hands… And we try and discern his plans. We look for word of him, a sign or glimpse… And then we make our move.” 

Credence stood up. “So we do nothing?” He asked. 

Dumbledore shook his head. “I didn't say--” 

“You did.” Without another word, Credence turned around and stormed upstairs. His shoulders were shaking, and he knew this feeling in his chest well enough by now to know if he didn't calm down, something bad would happen. If Grindlewald hadn't found him already, surely a giant house destroying murder cloud appearing in the countryside would alert him to Credence's whereabouts.

Standing in the middle of his room, Credence crossed his arms over his chest and breathed in slowly. He needed to remember that the people downstairs cared for him. They were doing there best, trying to get a handle on something that was clearly bigger than them. And if people like them didn't know what do in this situation, how could he say he knew any better? He needed to listen, to be calm and rational. 

But Grindlewald had hurt Percival, and that made it all very hard. 


	28. Chapter 28

For the vast majority of Credence’s life, he’d had no freedom. Mary-Lou Barebone had insisted on controlling every aspect of his life, from the people he spoke to and the places he went. She had dictated what he wore, how he was to behave and although she could not control the way he thought, she’d done her very best to do so anyways, and come very close.  
  
And looking back, as much as Credence would have said he hated his life… in a way, he didn’t. Because it was all he knew, and all he had. Perhaps as a child he’d had happiness and love, but Mary-Lou had taken that away and made sure fear and misery were all he would remember. Fear had raised him, and misery had slept with him in his bed each night, and that was the way it had always been.   
  
Without something to compare it to, it was hard for Credence to have truly hated his life. He had of course supposed, in a way, that this was not what life was like for others, but he couldn’t have said for certain. And either way, it was his life and he only had the one of it to live. So as awful and terrible has life with Mary-Lou Barebone had been, it had been the only life he’d known.  
  
But then Percival Graves had come along, and not only shown him another life, but another world entirely. The wizarding world had been just out of his reach, just beyond the surface of everything he’d known. And he’d seen magic, and found love. Grindelwald had taken that away, for a while… taken Percival away from him and locked him up. First his body, then his mind. And Credence had left everything he’d known, miserable as it had been, and travelled to a new country just to be with him.  
  
And there he’d found freedom. He’d found people that cared for him, that wanted to see him happy for no other reason than they liked him. They’d helped him find clothes that he actually liked to wear, gave him jobs he actually wanted to do and helped teach him all about the flora and fauna of the magical world he’d stepped in to. They’d taught him to use floo powder, and gave him the ability to go where he liked, when he liked. For the first time in his life, Credence had been in control of himself. Out of courtesy, he let Newt go when he was coming and going, but it was nothing like having to report his every movement to Mary-Lou. Newt just wanted to make sure he was safe and getting around alright, not control him.  
  
Once he had accepted a life of misery and control, where he was constantly monitored, trapped in a tiny world of hatred and fear.  He had accepted it, because he had nothing else. Nothing to compare it to, no idea that there could be anything else but what he had.  
  
Now it was different. Now he knew. He had been freed, and to be snatched back from that freedom and forced back into a cage was the most cruel torture he could have imagined.  They wanted to protect him, they had said. He believed them, of course, believed that they were trying their best to keep him safe… that didn’t make it any easier.    
  


* * *

After Credence had calmed down, and returned to the kitchen, they had informed him that until Grindelwald was captured, or at least no longer interested in Credence, he was not allowed to leave the house. They needed to keep him out of harm's way, and they needed to be able to know where he was and that he was safe. So he was to stay put in Newt’s cottage, and someone was going to stay with him at all times, while the others went out and searched for clues of Grindelwald’s plans.    
  


It had been less than a week, and Credence already felt like he was losing his mind. From being able to go and do whatever he wanted to being trapped in the cottage under constant supervision was maddening and infuriating .  

Newt tried to take his mind off his recent incarceration by refocusing on his training, trying to provoke him into performing non-Obscurial related magic. Credence tried to go along with it at first, but after a day or so of still not being able to produce anything, he gave up. He was somewhat certain that if he was going to perform anymore magic, it wasn't going to be now. 

What made everything worse of course, was that he hadn't heard a word from Percival. Not even an owl with a feeble explanation of what he had run off as he had. Queenie had explained why, of course, and maybe Percival was relying on that… But Credence still would have liked to hear from him. 

He wondered if Percival was feeling as terrible as he was. It seemed likely, given that the man who had destroyed his life was once again back in their lives, and he was powerless to stop it. He wished he could be there to comfort him, to hold him and tell him it would be alright… And he wished Percival would do the same for him. If they were both going to suffer, it seemed so cruel that they were forced to suffer apart. 

To try and distract himself, Credence spent most of his time in the enclosure with the animals. While it was technically still inside the cottage, the rolling plains and blue skies could made it easy to forget that, at least for a while. He would spend time with the mooncalves, and sometimes he would take his books and read to Dougal. 

After two weeks, Credence had read and reread just about every book he'd bought from Flourish and Blotts. He thought about Barrett, and wondered if he'd noticed his absence yet. He had been stopping by fairly regularly, surely he had noticed.. He wondered if Barrett was wondering where Credence had gone, or if he cared…

Each night that passed, Credence had terrible dreams. They were always different, but he always woke up the same way -- frightened and alone, somehow convinced for a horrible moment that every good thing that had happened to him had been a dream. For that moment, he was back in Mary-Lou Barebones house, alone and miserable and destined to be that way forever. 

Even after the moment passed, the feeling the dreams had given him lingered. He dreamed of a circus, with a girl who turned into a snake… He dreamed that Percival was gone, lost to him forever and forgotten by the world. He dreamed he had been snatched away from his life and put on display in a freak show, where the world came to marvel at the miraculous Obscurus. He dreamed of a secret, a horrible secret that Dumbledore was keeping, hiding from them all. But when he awoke, he couldn't recall what it was.

Almost a month had passed, when Credence finally decided he couldn’t take captivity any longer. The cottage had become insufferable, and though Tina, Queenie and Dumbledore came to provide updates frequently (and check to make sure Credence was safe) they had yet to find a single clue. Wherever Grindelwald was, whatever he was doing, he was doing it very quietly and very carefully. 

There’d still been no word from Percival, either. Credence had tried to write him a few times. The first few letters came back unopened, and after a few more attempts, Penelope wrote to tell him to stop writing. Apparently Percival thought that any contact, even through writing, would be unsafe and he would blame himself forever if anything happened to Credence. She wrote that he loved and missed him, and she and her brother were working together to learn what they could as well, but for now they had to be apart. 

Credence understood, even as he tossed the letter into the fire and watched the paper curl up and turn to ash. It was for the best, it really was. All of it was, he knew that. But he was still going to do what he was going to do. 

Once he’d made up his mind to leave, his first thought was of course to go to Percy. He wanted to see him, wanted to make sure he was alright and not driving himself crazy all over again. He wanted to be held by him, and kissed and he wanted to leave the goddamn cottage. 

But Percival, he knew, did not want to see him. In the best case scenario, showing up at the Graves residence would result in Percival demanding Penny take him right back to the cottage. Worst case, the sight of Credence, when he was trying so hard to avoid him, would set Percival off panicking about Grindelwald again and unable to tell what was real and fiction. 

In the end, he decided it best not to go to him. Besides, any scenario would surely result in him being sent right back to Newt, and he didn’t plan to get caught. He just wanted to stretch his legs for an hour, wander around and breathe some fresh air. He wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t Newt, or Tina or Queenie or Albus or Dougal. He wanted to convince himself he still had some freedom, if only for a little while. 

So when Newt went into the enclosure where he creatures stayed, Credence made as if he were going for a nap. Once Newt was gone, Credence bound back down the stairs, to the small pot near the fireplace where Newt kept his floo powder. He took two handfuls; one he put in a small pouch for the return trip, which he pocketed. The other handful of powder he threw into the fire, and quickly stepped into the bright green flames. He kept his voice low, but spoke clearly: “Diagon Alley.” 

There was a drop, and Credence found himself whooshing through the darkness, head over heels and back again before finally landing upright in the Diagon Alley grate. He quickly moved out of the way, not wanting to be squashed by the next person coming through. 

Breathing in, Credence took a moment to look at his surroundings. Diagon Alley was always an exciting place to visit, full of bustling wizards and witches and exciting things to see and buy. But today, it was more than that. It may as well have been heaven in London, because it just so happened that Diagon Alley was a place  _ outside of Newt’s cottage.  _ And that made it the most beautiful place in the whole world. 

Taking his time, Credence strolled through the streets, taking in the familiar shops and stores and wondering where he was going to head first. He could get some ice-cream at the new parlor that had recently been opened up by a young man named Florean Fortescue, or see if Gambol and Japes had anything new and interesting in. 

But Credence’s feet seemed to know where he wanted to go, even before he did and he soon found himself headed towards Flourish and Blotts. He had some money on him, perhaps he could buy a few more books to keep himself preoccupied in the coming days… and maybe, if Barrett was working… maybe he could talk to a friend, for a while. 

That would have been nice. 

The shop was empty of customers when Credence walked in. He thought it was empty of anyone, at first, but after a moment a familiar blonde head and skinny frame came from behind a bookshelf and Barrett smiled at him.

“Credence!” He exclaimed, moving to behind the counter as Credence walked towards him. “It’s been forever, where on earth have you been?” 

Credence sighed. “Trapped,” he said. “By people who claim to love me.” 

Barrett nodded, as if he understood that. “Oh, I’ve been there. I’ve always found that it’s the people who claim to love you that can hold you back the most.” He leaned on the counter. “You can’t let people like that hold you back.”

“They don’t mean to, I don’t think...” Credence said uncertainty. As angry as he was, he still felt the need to defend Tina and Newt. They really did think they were doing what was best, and they’d done so much for him.  

Waving his hand dismissively, Barrett shook his head. “That’s hardly the point. Even if they don’t intend to, small people just want to keep you small with them. So they try and shrink you, make you think you’re only as big as them,” Reaching across the counter, Barrett took Credence’s hand. He gripped it firmly, but his touch was gentle. There was something familiar about it, as he he was holding the hand of a friend he’d known long ago, but fallen out of touch with. “People like you and me, we’re bigger than that. Bigger than them all.” 

Credence felt his face flush. “I don’t think I’m very big at all,” He said quietly. 

Barrett stared at him, hard. “Credence, trust me. You’re a giant.” 

Unable to think of a response, Credence glanced away for a moment. When he looked back, Barrett was grinning. “Do you want to get out of here?” He asked. “I’ve got a place not far from here.” 

Blinking, Credence thought he heard some sort of unintelligible response leave his lips.  Barrett raised an eyebrow questioningly, and Credence flushed again. “I mean, I should probably be getting home. They’ll be waiting for me.” 

Letting go of his hand, Barrett moved out from behind the counter. He stood in front of Credence and put a hand against his face. Again, something familiar. “You don’t need them Credence,” He said gently. “You said it yourself, they’re trapping you. I can set you free. Come with me, and you’ll never need to feel small again.” 

Credence swallowed. “I--” He couldn’t think. 

Barrett moved closer. “Scamander just wants to make you into another one of his little beasts. Deep down you know that. Is that what you want, to be kept in a suitcase like a pet?” 

Thoughts were forming in Credence’s mind, his focus slowly coming back to him. “I… how do you know about that?” He asked quietly. “I never mentioned Newt’s suitcase...” 

Barrett smiled, and the door to the book shop burst open. Credence turned his head, and saw Albus Dumbledore standing in the open doorway, wand drawn and a look upon his face that Credence had never seen. His jaw was set and there was a burning fire in his eyes. He looked almost frightening. 

“Credence,” he said slowly. “Come here.” 

Credence bristled. “Why?” He asked. “So I can be put back into my cage?”

“He’s right, Albus,” Barrett agreed, grinning crookedly. “He’d be so much better off with me. I can teach him everything you couldn’t.” 

The wind whipped Dumbledore’s coat around, and rustled the books inside the store. He pointed his wand at Barrett. “Credence, I’ll ask again. Get away from him.” 

Credence turned to look at Barrett, who place a hand upon Credence’s chest. Dumbledore moved forward slightly, gripping his wand. “Why?” Credence asked. “Barrett’s my friend. Why are you pointing your wand at him…?” 

The answer come very slowly, much too slowly to do anything about it. Credence understood, even before the words had left Dumbledore’s mouth. Looking back, Credence thought it was his touch that had done it. Familiar and comforting, like a lover… but one Credence had never asked for. 

“Whoever you think he is, you’re wrong,” Dumbledore said. “He’s not your friend. He’s no one’s friend. Credence, that’s--” 

He didn’t need to say it. Credence looked at Barrett, and the name was on his lips. “Grindelwald.” He said. “You’re Gellert Grindelwald.” 

Barrett-- Grindelwald-- smiled. “Too right.” He said. “Well, it’s been fun but we really have so much to do so I’ll just be off,” 

Before they apparrated, Dumbledore shouted something, perhaps a spell… but Credence was gone before he could properly understand. Swishing through the darkness, wind pressing on his eardrums until suddenly they stopped. 

And Credence found himself alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN FOREVER I AM SO SORRY. Is anyone still here? IT'S ALMOST DONE I SWEAR.


End file.
